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Back The Lying House Save as PDF
Chapters (103)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. Epilogue
  102. Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
  103. Excerpt

“You’ve earned it, Jeff,” Shore said. “You might want to talk to an accountant about sheltering it against the tax hit.”

Shore and Slaughter stood, ending the meeting with handshakes and shoulder pats.

“Just keep up the stellar work,” Shore said. “And if there’s anything you need, anything you want to discuss, you can come directly to Lee and to me. Okay?”

Jeff hesitated, thinking of Vida Warren.

“Is there something on your mind?” Shore said.

“Uh, no.” Jeff smiled. “It’s all just a little, well, overwhelming.”

“Completely understandable.”

“Enjoy it. Take Lisa on a trip,” Slaughter said. “But only after you’ve got the campaign nailed down.”

Jeff left to the sound of their laughter.

He was elated and relieved as he settled back at his desk, ready to focus on the work ahead for the day. Rolling up his sleeves, he thought of texting Lisa about the bonus when his line rang.

“Got a call for you, Mr. Taylor,” Jane, the temp receptionist, said.

He picked up, but before Jeff could say anything, her voice came through.

“Time’s up,” Vida said.

It took a moment for Jeff to shift his attention. “It hasn’t been a week.”

“I can’t wait. I need to get things on track, to make things right.”

“Vida, give me just a bit more time.”

“For what? You’re stalling.”

“I’m working on an idea I need to discuss with you. You’re going to like it.”

Silence hissed. “What is it?” She sounded different: colder, desperate.

“Not over the phone,” he said. “Let’s meet, today.”

He heard a muffling sound at her end as if she’d covered her mouthpiece to talk to someone.

“All right. There’s a café, Romero Sunrise, on the waterfront at Bayside Marketplace. Meet me there, five thirty. But this is it. If you don’t deliver, if you don’t own up to your responsibilities, then everyone will know everything. And that’ll only be the start.”

Vida ended the call, and Jeff’s cell phone pinged.

The message from Vida opened to a photo of Lisa jogging alone through Palm Mirage Creek.

35

Four miles north of the Coral Cloud Tower where Jeff Taylor ended his call with Vida, Clete Younger Loften waited for his cell door to open in the Miami-Dade County Pre-Trial Detention Center.

The Y-shaped complex across from the criminal courthouse was in Overtown, one of Miami’s poorest neighborhoods and a world away from the gleaming skyscrapers of Brickell.

There was an electric buzz-click, followed by a heavy thunder roll, and the gunmetal steel doors opened simultaneously along the block. Loften, dressed in orange prison scrubs and tennis shoes, stepped out with accused murderers, rapists, robbers, carjackers and other inmates.