Perfect Lies (Mind Games 2)

He closes his eyes and then leans his head against mine. “I don’t know, Fia. When I realized what would have happened, I . . . was relieved. I was glad he wasn’t dead. Maybe I should want him dead, but I don’t. I want to destroy him, I want him ruined and behind bars, but I can’t want him dead. He’s all I have left.”

I drop my hands as his words echo through me. He looks up, a heartbeat too late, and shakes his head. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. I mean he’s all the family I have left. Like Annie. Would it matter to you if Annie did the worst thing in the world, if she took away everything you loved, if she was a terrible person? Would you want her dead?”

“No.” The word drops from my lips, but it has no soul, no passion behind it. Do I want Phillip Keane dead? Would I ever do that to James?

Well, obviously not. I saved the monster’s life. “What happens to the woman?” I ask.

James clears his throat, checks his pockets for his keys or his cell phone. I know before he opens his mouth he will lie to me. “I’m not sure.”

My brain is exploding with all the wrongs clashing against each other—she’ll die, or she’s dead, or she’s been dead for months, she just didn’t know it yet. And it’s my fault. I traded Phillip Keane’s life for hers.

But then James kisses me and his lips are soft and warm and they push it away, they push everything away, as always.

We are both of us made of the things we have lost. I want to find those things together. “Tell me about your mother,” I whisper.

He freezes against me, then with a sigh that travels through his whole body, he sits on the couch, pulling me onto his lap.

“She told the worst jokes in the world. She loved a good pun.”

“No such thing.”

His smile is the saddest I’ve ever seen. “She was a terrible cook. Burned everything.”

“Did she love your father?” How could a woman who could see the future—who could know what was coming—fall in love with a man like Phillip Keane?

James leans his head back, closes his eyes. There is something painfully innocent about the curve of his thick, dark lashes against his face. “She told me only people we love the most can destroy us, because no one else has that kind of power.”

“So she knew.”

He nods. “She knew. Do you know what else she always said?” He’s quiet and still for so long I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Then, his voice barely above a whisper, he says, “She’d hold me close and say, ‘James, my darling boy, you are going to break my heart.’ And I’d promise I wouldn’t, and she’d look at me and I could see in her face that she knew. She knew I would. And when I got older, it made me so mad that I did exactly what she said. She gave me the same power she gave my father, and we destroyed her.”

I bury my face in the space between his neck and shoulder, breathe him in, wish my cursed instincts could tell me what

to say to him, how to pull him back to me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Nothing ever is.” His laugh rattles something broken free in his chest, a bitter exhalation of weight that I cannot carry for him.

If we are defined by what we have lost, James and I will never really be found.

I wink at the security guard, then put on my best bored mood for the Feeler in the corner of the room. She’s here to monitor me while I do stock-picking duties. Can’t feel anything I want to feel. Not about James, not about Rafael, not about Annie. What else is new.

I’m three floors beneath Pixie. Three floors beneath Phillip Keane.

Humming to myself, I sit down at a desk and flip through the Dow and NASDAQ. I pick at random, whatever strikes my fancy. Sell this. Buy that. Tra-la-la-la. They are all imaginary numbers anyway. They don’t give me account information and computers here, not like James gives me. So I can’t change things, can’t hide things. Oh well.

I finish, stretching my arms above my head and yawning. Saved the boss’s life yesterday. What to do today? Maybe I’ll rescue a deposed Middle Eastern dictator. Who knows what my instincts will decide is right!

The Feeler sets a stack of folders on my desk, watching me way too intently. “More stocks?” I ask. I am not curious, but I don’t need to feel curious for this. I still feel bored. And hungry. “Can empaths feel when I’m hungry?”

She doesn’t look amused. Maybe because her hair is pulled back into a ponytail so tight, the corners of her hazel eyes are tugged out. I’m glad I can’t feel what her scalp must feel like. Feelers have the worst skills of all.

Or maybe Pixie does. I don’t want to know what everyone thinks of me.

Or maybe James’s mom did. If the people I love are going to destroy me, at least I don’t have to live with it every day until it happens.

The Feeler snaps her fingers in front of my face. My eyes meet hers and I don’t bother hiding the violent feelings that flare up. “Mr. Keane wants you to go over these old notes. You aren’t the only one working on them.” She says that last like a threat and I’m confused by her hostility. And then I wonder.

“You didn’t happen to know Clarice, did you?”