The Last Lie Read online

  The Last Lie

  Dana Killion

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  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

  Did You Enjoy the Book?

  Next in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  He’s peddling poison!” A man in his early sixties shouted, his face gray and haggard, as he struggled against the grip of two burly security types in black suits and ear wires. “You tell that damn coward he can’t hide behind his money! The world will know what he’s done if I have to spend the rest of my life making that happen!”

  Men in dark suits and women in silk dresses gaped, as guards held the man firmly by the arms and hustled him down the wide carpeted hallway, past gleaming chandeliers and decorator-selected art, and away from the ballroom.

  I stepped to the side allowing the entourage to pass. The agitated man stared at me with eyes gone dark and I shivered, feeling his fury deep in my chest. He wore his devastation like a black hole ready to swallow anything in its path. With his rumpled polo and battered jeans hanging slack on his hips, I didn’t imagine he was a guest at the Drea Foundation fundraiser, an organization devoted to supporting sexually, physically, and emotionally abused girls.

  I watched the three men round the corner, curious about the backstory, and then moved toward the banquet hall. I could hear patrons whisper to themselves about the vulgarity of the unexplained outburst as another security guard opened the large double doors that had been shuttered, screening the commotion from the attendees. I paused, uncertain whether to continue into the room and what I might find inside. Curiosity and obligation moved me forward. Surely the moment of drama had been suppressed.

  I stopped at the table and gave my name to the door attendant.

  “Good evening Ms. Kellner. I don’t have you on the press list. Is Link-Media covering the event tonight?”

  “No, I’m here as a personal sponsor.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you for your support,” she said, her voice appropriately perky, then handed me a program. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Stepping into the Peninsula Hotel’s Grand Ballroom, I scanned the room of designer dresses, carefully coifed hair, and four-inch heels, looking for my date, Seth Bowman, and more importantly, Wade Ramelli. He was the chairman of the Link-Media board, which made him my boss. He’d also dodged my last three phone calls, and I was pissed.

  City lights glittered through sixteen-foot windows, bouncing off the crystal, as the downtown Chicago skyline shifted into evening. Lush arrangements of peonies, freesia, and orchids, painted in shades of magenta and coral graced the skirted tables, mirroring the colors of the sky. A jazz trio filled a corner to put the crowd in a mellow mood and waitstaff circulated with trays of champagne flutes. The perfect environment to get well-to-do patrons loosened up enough to open their wallets for a good cause.

  No sign of either man, so I made a beeline for the bar, winding around the clusters of twos and threes as they nibbled shrimp dumplings and stuffed endive. Cabernet in hand, I made another pass around the room, wondering which of the men in tailored Italian suits had been the subject of the screamers ire.

  “Wow. Andrea Kellner you look stunning this evening. Tell me again why I can’t get you into bed.”

  Seth Bowman stood at my elbow, a smirk on his face, as he leaned in for a peck on the cheek.

  “Because I find you horribly unattractive.”

  No one, including me, found this Adonis, lacking in physical appeal. Chiseled cheek bones, abs of steel, arms sculpted of mahogany. May as well oil him down and pop him up on an underwear billboard. At 42, he was still a muscle machine with a two hour a day dumbbell habit. As the founder and CEO of VTF Industries, a nutritional drink company, his body was his billboard and perfection his only standard. Too much gloss for my tastes. Seth and I were pals, platonic pals, not pals with benefits. Despite my newly single status, I wasn’t tempted and never had been in the eight years we’d known each other. And a night of playing dress-up in this elegant environment wasn’t about to loosen my panties.

  We’d met one frigid Sunday in October at a Chicago Marathon party, back when Seth was in the heady pre-launch days of VTF. He’d been so eager to share his excitement with the world that I became fascinated with his entrepreneurial spirit. We’d gotten so engrossed in conversation that morning that we’d missed the first round of elite runners as they crossed the finish line. In the years since, we made a point of getting together every few months. I’d watched his business blossom and he my career shift.

  “Well, lucky ass me that you’d suffer through an evening with my beastly face. Drink up. Maybe I’ll be cuter by bar time.” He laughed and grabbed my shoulders. “Glad you could join me. It’s been way too long. How’ve you been holding up since all that business with Erik? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the funeral.”

  His eyes were clouded, his face tired and sad, but I had a feeling it wasn’t entirely out of concern for me.

  “Dazed and confused is the best way to describe it,” I said. “I don’t know if I should call myself a widow or a divorcee? Technically we were still married when he was killed, but the divorce was imminent. Emotionally, I’m still bouncing. Trying to manage the business, my grief, life… I have a cat to keep me company. Do I need more?” I laughed, hoping that would give the illusion of normalcy. Few people really wanted more than a surface level response that made them feel they’d done their duty and asked.

  If I was honest with myself, I was still numb. Erik’s death had buried me in emotional turmoil and saddled me with a business I didn’t know if I was prepared to run. Promoting an employee to managing editor of the digital media company had helped keep the chaos of day-to-day content at bay, but I was a journalist early in a new career, and a former attorney, not a finance geek. Other than the disclosure documents for our divorce, I’d never even seen Link-Media’s balance sheet prior to stepping into the big chair.

  Four months had passed since I’d taken the helm and pressure was beginning to build from the company’s board of directors to stabilize the business in the wake of its founder’s death. Sensing vulnerability, our competitors were also ratcheting up the pressure and stealing market share. The weight of the grief and the responsibility pressed down on my chest in the middle of the night until it was hard to find my breath.

  I put my hand to Seth’s chin and wagged it back and forth. “What’s up with the bags under your eyes? Is all this insane success pushing you to your breaking point?”

  In fact, he looked worse than I’d ever seen him, bloodshot eyes, skin gone ashy, his face thin. Only three years in and the meteoric rise of his unique line of herbal energ
y drinks had been impressive. Sales had quadrupled, endorsement offers and partnership proposals were flooding in, and media profiles appeared almost weekly. I couldn’t be happier for my friend’s success but seeing the toll it was taking on him had me worried.

  “Just a little flu bug I picked up. So, shall we get you another drink?” He laughed and shot his eyes at my cleavage. “Hmm, you should wear that dress every day.”

  “Back off Mr. Testosterone.” I smiled, hooked my arm into his and steered us toward the dais as the lights flickered and a man up front called for our attention.

  The room quieted. The tuxedoed MC thanked the crowd for their support of the charity, summarized the years accomplishments, made a vigorous plea for donations, and then introduced two of the young recipients of the Drea Foundation’s services.

  As the announcements ended, Seth pulled me toward a buffet table loaded with artfully prepared canapés. An elegant woman I guess to be in her late forties approached as we examined the selection, greeting Seth warmly with a kiss on both cheeks. I recognized her from photos on the charity’s website. She was slightly shorter than my 5’4”, with a birdlike body. Her glossy, dark hair was pulled away from her face into a French twist. She wore a burgundy Grecian column that skirted the floor, caressing her tiny frame.

  “Andrea, I’d like you meet Candiss Nadell, our hostess and president of the Drea Foundation.”

  “I was thrilled to see your name on the guest list, Andrea. Thank you so much for your ongoing generosity.” She clasped my hand gently in both of hers and launched into her sales pitch. “Our counseling center is opening in two weeks and we hope to raise enough this evening to provide twelve additional college scholarships. We can’t undo the abuse that has already happened to these young girls, but we can give them tools that allow them to rise above their attackers and not be destroyed.”

  “It’s important work and I’m delighted to help. The trauma the girls have experienced is unimaginable,” I said, unable to ignore the hundred thousand dollars worth of sapphires and gold that circled her neck.

  “Yes, it breaks the heart.” A shadow flickered across her face. “Oh, you must meet my husband. Darling…” she waved over a man standing at the buffet loading a plate of cheese puffs for an elderly woman draped in ropes of pearls.

  His thick, wavy gray hair was combed back over his head and he sported a deep golf course tan. I guessed him to be ten, maybe twelve years older than his wife and double her weight.

  “Aaron Nadell.” He held out a hand adorned with several chunky gold rings. “Thank you for coming. I hope my wife isn’t pushing too hard to drain a little more from your bank account. She has quite the tenacious streak where these girls are concerned.”

  “Only for worthy causes darling.” She squeezed his hand and turned back to us. “Aaron is still pouting over the fact that I spend my time managing the Drea Foundation instead of his firm, Nadell Capital. I was there with him in the beginning helping set up the bedrock, so to speak. It’s been up to him to keep business humming.” She glanced over at her husband, her face a little quieter. “So far, he’s handled everything as I expected he would.”

  A young woman stepped over and whispered in Candiss’s ear. She nodded.

  “You’ll have to excuse me. Duty calls. Please enjoy the evening.” Candiss planted another kiss on Seth’s cheek and the couple disappeared into the crowd to continue their glad-handing.

  “Had enough?” Seth asked. “We could ditch the crowd and pop into Shanghai Terrace for a little dim sum and sake.”

  “There’s someone I have to buttonhole before I leave,” I said, spotting Ramelli over at a dessert table. His lanky frame towered over two men he had engaged in conversation. I didn’t want to miss my opportunity.

  “Want me to wait?”

  “Shouldn’t you go home and concentrate on feeling better? Bad advertising.” I winked and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Not a chance. Meet me at the bar in ten minutes. Another vodka and I’ll have eradicated the last of this virus.”

  Ramelli’s smile deflated slightly as I approached his party. He introduced me to the others. I managed an irritated stare and asked the men to excuse us for a moment, leaving Ramelli with no reasonable escape.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, Ramelli. Why is that?”

  “No, not avoiding. I wanted to wait until I had spoken to the entire board about your request. I expect that we can have a detailed conversation about the budget in the next two weeks.”

  “And you could have said that on the phone instead of ignoring me. I need approval on this software upgrade. It was yanked from last year’s budget and our page load speed is no longer competitive. We don’t have time to procrastinate anymore.”

  I could see my agitation wasn’t moving the needle and softened my tone. The budget wasn’t the real issue.

  “I know our situation isn’t ideal from your point of view, but like it or not, I’m still the majority shareholder and a board member myself. I expect the board of directors to give me a chance. A year to prove myself without the obstacles you’re already throwing in my path. If I don’t meet our financial goals, I’ll happily be part of a realignment but until then don’t handcuff me.”

  Ramelli’s face pinched, and he tugged on his cuff. “Let me buy you out,” he said. “You’ve had a tremendous trauma this year. Link-Media deserves to thrive. And in this competitive environment, it needs a seasoned pro at the helm. Take the money and make your life easier. You don’t need this headache.”

  “A year, I want a year. After that we can talk.”

  I turned and walked away, annoyed but not surprised by Ramelli’s suggestion. The idea had hung in the air, hinted at but unspoken, within weeks of me taking over the company. Not that I blamed him. The board had every right to show concern. Obstruction on the other hand…

  An angry shout rose over the din of the room as I neared the bar. People shifted away from the commotion, jostling me as I plowed ahead. The throng blocked my view but I could hear a male voice on the edge of hysteria.

  “She was only 19! Doesn’t that matter to you, you heartless son-of-a-bitch? What did you give her? What did you put in that stupid energy drink that killed her?”

  I pushed through a circle of bodies. Seth stood silently in the clearing, pressed against the bar. His eyes were wide, and he appeared frozen with fear. The man who’d been escorted out earlier paced in front of him unleashing his tirade with each step, oblivious to the alarm he was causing.

  Somehow he’d managed to get back in to the event through the service entrance. Two members of the waitstaff were trying to cajole him out through the kitchen. Where in the hell were the security guards?

  I ran my eyes around the room as the crowd rushed toward the exits, anxious to extract themselves from the mounting tension and trapping the guards at the door. Seth locked his eyes on mine, sheer panic in his face. A flash of fear and my own recent history passed through my mind but no one was stepping in to deescalate the situation.

  I took one more look for the guard then stepped toward the man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Sir, would you like to come with me and Mr. Bowman and talk this through? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable—”

  “Comfortable?”

  He turned toward me and I saw the fury in his eyes. And the gun in his waistband. My breath froze in my chest and I stepped back.

  “Is my dead daughter comfortable?” Spit shot from his mouth as he raged at me. “He killed her! He killed my baby! He doesn’t get to be comfortable ever again.”

  With one turn he pulled the gun from his belt and shot. My own scream rang in my ears as Seth crumpled to the floor.

  2

  I leaned against the cold tile wall of the hospital corridor, eyes closed, feeling the rough texture against my bare shoulders. Forcing the antiseptic smell out of my consciousness, I pushed the dings and chirps of the PA system aside and focused on my breath. Seth had been rus
hed into surgery hours ago and panic was taking over. Someone gently took my hands.

  I opened my eyes and looked up at Detective Michael Hewitt. His rugged face was twisted with worry and I threw myself into his chest. He held me tight, kissing my forehead and wrapping me in his strong arms until I calmed.

  Taking hold of my shoulders, he stepped back, running his eyes over the blood smeared on my arms, my chest, and staining my silk dress.

  “Tell me this isn’t yours.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not hurt.”

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice tentative, his eyes filled with confusion. I wasn’t sure if he was asking as a cop or as my lover.

  “Can we check on Seth before we talk? They haven’t told me anything.”

  Michael brushed his lips over mine, then turned toward the nurses’ station as a doctor approached.

  “Ms. Kellner? I’m Dr. Lassiter.” He looked at me with kind brown eyes.

  “Yes.” I held out a hand. “This is Detective Hewitt, with CPD. He’s also a friend. What’s Seth’s condition?” I asked.

  “He’s going to be fine. The bullet tore through his deltoid muscle and shattered a portion of his acromion. That’s the bone at the tip of the shoulder. Because of his overly developed delts, damage to the bone was minimized. He’s going to have some pain and physical therapy will be the extent of his workout routine for the near term, but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”