Lies Run Deep: The Predator / Prey Thriller Series: Book Two, page 1
LIES RUN DEEP
THE PREDATOR / PREY THRILLER SERIES
BOOK 2
VALERIE BRANDY
CONTENTS
Fact.
1. Zoe
2. Cassandra
3. Zoe
4. Cassandra
5. Zoe
6. Cassandra
7. Zoe
8. Cassandra
9. Zoe
10. Cassandra
11. Zoe
12. Cassandra
13. Zoe
14. Cassandra
15. Zoe
16. Cassandra
17. Zoe
18. Cassandra
19. Zoe
20. Cassandra
21. Zoe
22. Cassandra
23. Zoe
24. Cassandra
25. Zoe
26. Cassandra
27. Zoe
28. Cassandra
29. Zoe
30. Cassandra
31. Zoe
32. Cassandra
33. Zoe
34. Cassandra
35. Zoe
36. Cassandra
37. Zoe
38. Cassandra
39. Zoe
40. Cassandra
41. Zoe
42. Cassandra
43. Zoe
44. Cassandra
45. Zoe
46. Cassandra
47. Zoe
48. Cassandra
49. Zoe
50. Cassandra
51. Zoe
52. Cassandra
53. Zoe
54. Cassandra
55. Zoe
56. Cassandra
More From Valerie Brandy
Letter From the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2024 Emerald Lion Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Published by: Emerald Lion Press, 23901 Calabasas Rd., Ste 2088, Calabasas, CA 91302. emeraldlionpress@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-964161-03-7
Cover design by Stuart Bache. Copy Editing provided by Sharon Lennon-Mehlschau and Linda Triol. Photo of the author by David Mueller. French to English Translations provided by Analiesmarry.
Printed in the United States of America.
Created with Vellum
For all the bees buzzing—
May you find your true North.
And for my Mom,
Who taught me how to fly.
FACT.
The word "honeymoon" is derived from an old Northern European custom in which newlyweds consume a daily cup of mead— made with fermented honey— for a month.
This custom would not be possible without bees.
1
ZOE
Our wedding is simple.
Pink and beige crepe-paper folded into petals and stars, hung in tree branches with invisible fishing line. Lights curled in mason jars, twinkling like fireflies. An empty shadowbox with a slot on top serves as our guest book— it's a cross between a piggy bank and a picture frame. Mike carved pieces of balsa wood into circles. A sharpie sits nearby, so guests can write their well-wishes on the round, wooden shards before dropping them through the slot. When the visual guest book is done, it'll be a piece of art. We'll hang it in the living room, above the couch.
Our venue is nothing.
An open hillside out in Simi Valley. It has a name, but I can't remember it— and I prefer it that way. The man who owns the land has a small house over the ridge. When I knocked on his door and explained what I wanted to use his property for, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Who'd wanna get married here?"
"Me, I guess," I answered back, watching as the lines between his ginger eyebrows deepened, as if concerned for my mental health. "I can pay you," I added, pulling out my check book. "Not much, but a couple hundred, maybe, for the trouble?"
He waved a hand at me and looked over his shoulder, where a TV blared. An episode of Dr. Phil was reaching its climax, its unlucky guest awaiting the results of a paternity test.
"Nah, don't worry about that," the man shook his head, his eyes still fixated on the screen in the other room. "Just try to keep the noise down, alright?"
"The wedding's June 22nd," I told him. "At night. We might come by a couple days before, to set everything up."
"Sure, sure," he nodded, making no effort to record the date. "I'll be visiting my cousin up North then, anyways."
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled," I told him.
"The groom?"
"Your cousin."
He nodded, then took my pen from my hand without asking me, scribbling down his phone number on the back of my checkbook.
"Nothin' out there. You'll have to bring your own light," he said before closing the door.
And just like that, we had a venue. Towering oak trees with bark sloughing off their sides, reaching their long branches toward each other, as if waiting for a hug. Brown grass growing knee-high in some places. And best of all: the view at sundown.
It was the view that made me know I wanted to get married, here. I was driving down a side road, running out of light, when I rounded a corner and the sky opened up. Blood-orange paint dripped down the golden hill, reds and oranges burning. It's something to do with the angle of the mountain: the ridge kisses the sky at the perfect point. Mike and I sat out one night and timed it. At 7:55pm sharp, the sun's edge sinks beneath the ridge, coloring the hill all red and yellow.
Now, it's 7:45pm, and I'm standing at the top of that same ridge, wearing a white dress. It's sleeveless, with thin spaghetti straps, a wisp of a thing. A cotton-candy skirt bells out at the bottom— whimsical, flighty. But the top is all structure and neat lines, restrained and aloof. When I tried it on, my Mom said, "It's sugar and spice, just like you."
She's standing beside me, holding my arm, ready to walk me down the aisle, which is really just a long stretch of grassless earth that Mike mowed clean. We laid a tan runner on top, with a crunchy plastic underside to keep the dew from leaking through.
The sound of a single violin plucks its way over the hillside.
"Ready?" my Mom asks.
I nod, and we make our way down the hill. One hundred eyes stare. Everyone stands, rising from the white plastic chairs we rented. My stomach churns. We sent out too many invitations, expecting most of them to be returned with a "Not available," RSVP. There wasn't much notice, and the venue is in the middle of nowhere. Looking out at the crowd, I'm taken aback. Maybe we underestimated how much everyone loves us.
Lanterns bob in the trees, helping us find our way toward the carved pergola that Mike built, which serves as an altar. The wind blows, hiking up my dress, and I know it's the Great Everything, moving me forward, telling me that I'm right where I'm supposed to be.
Mike comes into view, looking way too good in his charcoal tux. I'm always surprised by how well he wears one. Some men put on a suit and immediately look lost, like a kid who was forced to dress up for church. With his usual uniform of ripped t-shirts and old jeans— stained with varnish— Mike's a prime candidate for this category. But somehow, he pulls it off. Maybe it's an extension of his ability to be comfortable in all situations, with all different kinds of people. Mike wears the suit: he doesn't let it wear him.
He smiles at me, and suddenly I'm not concerned about how many guests we invited. Mike is my safe place. The world could crumble, the skies could fall— if Mike is there, we'll be alright.
My Mom gives me away. Mike looks at her, and when he takes her hand, he whispers something in her ear. I can't catch what he says, but I think I hear the words "take care of," and "always."
My maid of honor— Tori— smiles at me, her eyes tearing up a little. She mouths the word "twenty." It's how many years we've known each other. She touches the sash on the waistband of her dress. We had the number sewn on the inside. It's our secret.
Rick— Mike's best man— nods at the officiant as if to say, "Let's do this, already." Rick is a somber, lanky investment banker, and the closest thing Mike has to family. Mike calls Rick his brother.
The officiant says some words about love, but the wind is blowing again, so I don't listen. Instead, I focus on the sound of the leaves rattling, the melody of our future riding on the wind's back. It promises me decades of slow dances on our patio, breakfasts in bed, cold winters spent by the fireplace, and warm summer nights laying hand-in-hand beneath the stars, silently wondering how we got so lucky but not daring to ask it aloud.
It's time for Mike's vows. He wrote some himself. He promised to keep it short, so that I wouldn't look out of place having not written my own. He knows I'm not a great public speaker. I'm better with actions than with words.
"I didn't know what 'home' was," he says, quietly, "until I met you."
He takes my hand and slides the wedding band onto my finger, repeating the traditional vows line by line.
It's my turn, now. I hear myself say, "As long as we both shall live," before sliding the ring onto Mike's left ring finger. It's the hand that's missing a pinky, now. He makes jokes about the missing digit, but I've noticed he hides the hand in his pocket, especially around strangers. The terrible thing that happened to us in the dark, vast wilderness of Yosemite pushes at the edges of my mind. I try not to think about it, but it pops up when I least expect it. But not now. Not here. I won't let anything ruin this moment.
That's it. We're married. The sun sinks below the mountains with a final defiant flash, and the night sky blankets the hillside. Mike beams, his eyes reflecting back the moonlight, looking at me like I'm all he's ever wanted.
I remember what the man who owns this property told me.
"You'll have to bring your own light," he'd said.
I hold Mike's hand in mine.
As I look into his eyes, counting the stars, the moons, the infinite universes there, all of them glittering with the light that holds my world together— I know that we did.
2
CASSANDRA
The venue they've chosen is dark— too dark.
It makes it easy to hide.
If Mike were still talking to me, I'd warn him about choosing to host a wedding in such a remote location. A pitch black field in the middle of nowhere screams "horror film," not "marry me." Not that I mind their choice. It's great, for me. I do well in darkness, where you never know what's going to happen next. I enjoy the unpredictable. Sometimes, when things get too boring, I'll smash something in my apartment, just to create a mess that needs cleaning.
I sink deeper into my hiding spot in the living room of the house at the top of the hill, unnoticed by all. The house smells like rotting vegetable soup, and there's five seasons of Dr. Phil queued up on the Tivo. The owner couldn't have been more careless in the way he positioned the hide-a-key. He left it on the back stoop, sitting right next to the door. The hide-a-key itself wasn't even convincing: just a faux-rock made from an unnatural-looking plastic. He didn't put much effort into security, but I understand why— he doesn't have much to lose.
The house creaks as I adjust my footing, staying as close to the dusty wall as I can, imagining that I'm one of its bare wooden planks.
I clutch the splintering window-frame, peeking over its edge. Zoe and Mike exchange their rings. It makes me want to cry out— watching Mike marry someone else— but I stay silent, biting my tongue until I start to taste blood. I want to light the house on fire, burn the whole thing down, just to make them look this way.
There's a plan, I remind myself. Stick to the plan.
I am here to procure four items:
The sash. The wallet. The necklace. The gun.
My task is to steal these small objects. Not to cause a scene at the wedding, although I would like to. Not to flip over tables. Not to set the hillside on fire, watching the dry grass burn. I wouldn't create a scene to hurt anyone. I would just want them to notice me. I would make just enough fuss that they wouldn't be able to deny my presence. "Hello, Cassandra," they'd say, and I'd quiet immediately, just happy to be acknowledged. That’s all I ever really want. Is to be noticed.
No. My purpose tonight is not to be seen. I am to get in, and get out. I am to resist my own impulses in order to serve the long-term plan, which Logan has promised me will prove much more satisfying.
"If you do this," Logan told me when he first recruited me to his cause. "Mike will be forced to notice you. You can have him, alone in a room, and he won't be able to look away."
I repeat the list to myself like a mantra: The sash. The wallet. The necklace. The gun.
Outside the window, everyone cheers, snapping me back to reality. It's done. They're married. A woman— Zoe's Mom— motions down the hillside to a flat area, where huge tents have been set up to create an indoor-outdoor experience for the reception. The guests stumble their way down the makeshift path, using their cellphones to light their footsteps.
I shake my head, crouching out of sight. I imagine how easy it would be to push Zoe down the hill and watch her tumble to the bottom, bones snapping all the way down. Is she were out of the way, maybe Mike would look at me again.
Help is so very far away, and who knows what could happen. What on Earth were Zoe and Mike thinking, getting married way out here?
There's a lot of crazy people in the world. You can't be too careful, nowadays.
3
ZOE
Our first dance is under the stars.
It's a warm night. Crickets sing, and the trees in the valley are dotted with little pastel flowers.
I never thought I'd get here. There was a time when finding a man I loved enough to marry seemed impossible.
We're on a flat plastic dance floor, brought in by a party supply company. We ordered everything from one place, including the white billowing event tents at the base of the mountain. I wanted the entire evening to be spent outside under the stars, but Mike and my Mom pointed out that our guests might not be as comfortable in the elements as I am.
"What if it rains?!" my Mom asked during one of our many wedding-planning sessions, looking across the dinner table at Mike for support. He nodded. I shrugged.
"Then everyone will get a little wet."
"What about Tori's Nana?!" my Mom pushed, rolling her eyes. "Do you really want Bam-Bam to catch hypothermia?"
"Zoe..." Mike added, "You love Bam-Bam."
Eventually, they talked me into the tents by pointing out that my perception of the outdoors has been forever changed. It's true. I survived a week in the harsh Yosemite backcountry, in the middle of winter, stalked by a killer. In order to survive, I became a part of the forest, as much as any animal. Being exposed in nature doesn't scare me now. I've left the woods, but they haven't left me.
Mike spins me around. It's too advanced a move— one I'd barely pull off gracefully in ordinary sneakers. In these shoes, it's impossible. My hand returns to Mike's shoulder just in time, right before I'm about to fall. He catches me. He always catches me.
Mike smiles at me. We're the only ones who know I was about to fall. Another secret we share; another addition to our private little world.
The strangeness of tonight makes me sigh. I'm wearing a dress I never thought I'd wear, living a life I didn't think I deserved, dancing with a man better than anyone I ever imagined. I'm happier than I've ever been, but there's a sticky bit of sadness underneath it. Finding my happy ending means letting go of a struggle I've grown accustomed to. I've spent a decade defining myself as single, doomed to be alone forever. Now, I have to let go of that old image of myself— the first edition of Zoe— and embrace something new.
"Husband," I say quietly, so no one else can hear.
"Still trying out the word?" Mike laughs.
"It's too strange. Maybe I'll call you my life partner."
The music stops, the last note on that lone violin fading into the valley. Our first dance ends, and two caterers pull open the entrance to the tents, urging everyone inside for warm food, good company, and a celebration.
I watch our nearest and dearest float into the tents, and suddenly I'm glad we ordered them. I really do love Bam-Bam.
4
CASSANDRA
I'm wearing a caterer's uniform— one I stole from the van parked out back. The company is called "Lavender & Sage," as if the owners thought naming their business after herbs would disguise the fact that it's just another basic enterprise in the food industry. Generic dishes like chicken and fish, ordered in bulk— served always with cheap potatoes— keep their margins down. Using a temp service to hire their wait staff means they don't have to provide health insurance. Everyone working for them is a contractor. They won't look twice at an unfamiliar face like mine.
I keep my head down as I lift up a corner of the white event tent, making sure I hold it high enough that it covers my face. No one will expect to see me, here, but still— I must be cautious. The majority of these guests are unfamiliar to me, but there's a few who I've met before. They're the ones who knew Mike in another life.
