Lie to Me Read online

  Lie To Me

  Nothing but the Truth Series Book 2

  Michelle Lindo-Rice

  Michelle Lindo-Rice

  P.O. Box 380992

  Murdock, FL 33938

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Lie To Me Copyright © 2016 Michelle Lindo-Rice

  ISBN-13: 978-1535105712

  ISBN-10: 1535105712

  Smashwords Edition

  Acknowledgements

  First, I honor my Savior Jesus Christ. Thank You.

  Writing a sequel is no easy task. Special thanks to all my faithful readers who constantly motivate me to keep at it.

  A big thank you to my sons: Eric and Jordan. Thank you to my sisters, family and church members.

  Thank you to Tiffany Tyler for reading and sharing your thoughts. Thank you to Zara Anderson, my sister, who provided feedback.

  Thank you to my editor, Felicia Murrell.

  Enjoy Lie to Me!

  Sincerely,

  Michelle Lindo-Rice

  Check out sample chapters of my novels and PLEASE join my mailing list at www.michellelindorice.com

  Christian Fiction Authors I recommend:

  www.blackchristianreads.com

  Dedication

  For Christine Reed.

  Luke 4:18

  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”

  Author: Our Lord Jesus Christ

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  Epilogue

  Questions for Discussion

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “Get out the car!”

  Fourteen-year-old Noah Charleston raked his hands through his chin-length hair then gripped the wheel.

  “Did you hear me? I said get out!” the hooded young man banged on the glass.

  Noah turned to see the barrel of a 9mmGlock pointed at his head. He looked to his right to see two other assailants pounding on the window. Noah knew the locks were activated in his parents’ eight-year-old Toyota Camry, but he pressed them anyway.

  “Noah!” Mary Charleston yelled from the back seat.

  “They’re going to kill us,” Peter Charleston chimed in, twisting his hands.

  Noah saw his parents’ frightened expressions and made his decision. He bent his lanky frame close to the wheel. “Put your heads down,” he commanded.

  It was one a.m. The streets were deserted. Noah gunned the gas and tore through the red light. He hunched over expecting to hear the distinct sounds of sirens.

  Two loud claps boomed throughout the otherwise quiet streets.

  Noah looked over at his dad. “Are you all right?”

  Peter’s bottom lip trembled.

  “We’ll be fine,” Noah said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  There was another loud clap. The car swerved out of his control. Noah gripped the wheel and instinctively curved with the car.

  “What’s that?” Mary asked.

  “They hit a tire.” Noah gritted his teeth. He heard the sound of metal scraping the ground and knew he had no choice but to hit the brakes.

  His chest heaved. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the youths running toward them. Within seconds, they were back at the car.

  Mary wiped her nose with her sweater.

  “It’s going to be all right, Mom,” Noah said.

  One of the boys bashed the rear window.

  “I’m out of ammo,” the one with the gun said. He dropped the weapon and rushed off.

  Peter opened the door and jumped out. “Leave us alone,” he yelled.

  “Dad, why did you—” Noah searched the interior for a possible weapon. Finding none, he exited the car.

  The boys heckled his father once they saw they were being confronted by a man with Down syndrome. Peter’s eyes were wide with fear.

  One of the boys stuck his head inside and snatched Mary’s pearls from around her neck. Peter raced over to comfort her.

  Noah eyed the two boys who were without guns. He could take one of them. He rushed toward the youth and slammed him to the ground. His mother’s cries gave him the strength he needed to fight. He pummeled the boy with his fists and kicked and scratched. Noah wasn’t above fighting dirty. Growing up with his special needs parents had made him learn to fight from an early age.

  All of a sudden, Noah heard loud screams. He froze.

  He twisted around. The other boy held a long blade. Blood dripped off the steel.

  “No!” Noah yelled and rushed over to the car. His body shook when he noticed his parents hugging each other. They had multiple stab wounds. “Help!” he screamed as loud as he could. “Help me!”

  “It hurts, Noah,” Mary said with labored breaths.

  Noah could see the blood on her chest. His father’s head was bent at an odd angle. Noah knew his father was gone.

  He released a roar and charged in the direction of the boy with the knife. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have alerted the officers. But, Noah didn’t care. He was going to kill this boy or die trying. They stabbed Noah in his legs and arms, but he persisted.

  From the corner of his eye, Noah noticed the other boy bend over and pick up the gun. He checked it for bullets. “There’s one round left.” He cackled. Noah’s heart raced. The youth pressed the trigger. Noah prepared his body for impact. To his surprise, none came.

  “We gotta get outta here!” The other youth yelled, stuffing cash into his pocket.

  “No, we have to smoke this kid,” the boy said. He pressed the trigger again. It jammed a second time.

  The other boy ran. “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re lucky,” the boy said before running after his friend.

  Noah hobbled over to his mother. Mouth hung open; her eyes were wide. He knew she was gone. Noah sunk to his knees by the side of the car. He wished the gun had gone off and killed him. His body shook. He hadn’t been able to help his parents. He should have been able to help them.

  Noah didn’t know he was wailing until strong arms surrounded him and pulled him to his feet.

  “They killed my parents,” he howled, leaning into the officer’s chest. “I tried to help them. I tried.”

  The officer nodded. “The ambulance is on its way.”

&nb
sp; Noah shook his head. “It’s too late. They’re gone. I’ve lost them. I have no one. My family is gone.”

  He felt a pat on his back. “It will be all right,” the bass voice rumbled in Noah’s ear.

  “I wish the gun had gone off.” His body shuddered. “I wish I had died along with them.”

  “Your parents wouldn’t have wanted that,” the officer said. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  Noah pulled away from him. “Don’t talk to me about God right now. I want my parents.”

  Another officer approached. He had his pen and notebook in his hand. “Son, I know this is a hard time for you. But, I need to ask you some questions. Can you tell me anything about what happened?”

  Noah wiped his face. Rage filled his heart.

  His voice was sharp and raw. “It was three of them. Three black boys. Three black boys killed my parents.”

  Noah jumped up out of his sleep. He wiped his brow and took deep breaths. He looked at the woman sleeping beside him. It was a hot day in August and his wedding night.

  This dream hadn’t come to him by accident. Noah knew it was a warning. God was telling Him something. He had to tell her. Tell Sydney the truth. The only problem was telling her the truth could only mean one thing. He had lied to her.

  Again.

  1

  Earlier that year

  “You’re a low-down unscrupulous sorry excuse for a human being. You know that? The world may think Pastor Monty Clarendon walks on water, but you don’t have me fooled one bit.” Monica Riley hurled insults as she entered the study of the renowned televangelist. Her reddened face and heaving chest told of a much greater anger than her spoken words.

  Seated behind the oversized mahogany desk, Clarendon leaned into his chair and laughed. She stomped her foot. He laughed again.

  “I take it you saw my son while you were away?”

  “Yes—yes, I did. I saw Lance. My first sight of him, after almost three years, was him on his knees begging Belinda Santiago to marry him. Belinda Santiago, Sydney’s best friend. What kind of messed up, mixed-up nonsense is that?” Monica yelled. She looked Clarendon in the eyes. “It would’ve been nice if you’d given me some warning, but you sent me in there cold, without a clue as to what I was walking into. That was downright cruel. I left in a hurry and forgot my favorite sweater. January in Florida is pretty chilly.”

  “Come now, Monica,” Clarendon cajoled. He scrunched his lips like he was holding his laughter in. “Lance and I are estranged. You can’t expect me to know his whereabouts.”

  She lifted a brow. She knew better. Monica slumped into a huge armchair across from him. “I can, and do—why else would you have hired me?”

  Clarendon didn’t answer right away. Instead, the steel eyes, which pierced many a soul through the lens of a television camera, remained pinned on Monica for several seconds.

  She squirmed under his penetrating stare. “Quit that.” Goose bumps rose on her flesh. “I hate when you do that, Clarendon.”

  “I hired you because you’re not only a master chef…I needed someone with your—ah—what shall I say?” Clarendon paused as if he were searching for the right words. “Special talents.”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “You’re the devil incarnate disguised as an angel of God.”

  With a loud guffaw, Clarendon teased, “Temper—temper. You know you have to learn to control that.”

  His mocking tone grated on her nerves. She uttered in a low, menacing tone, “What do you want from me?”

  Clarendon’s face transformed. He became stone-faced. “When I hired you a year ago, you were destitute and your daughter was about to become a ward of the court. I gave you a job and a home.” He folded his arms. “Now, it’s time for retribution.”

  Monica bit her lip. “I can’t do it, Clarendon. I know you’ve asked me before, but I can’t be the one to bridge your relationship with Lance. He doesn’t want to see me. I’m like poison to him. Don’t you get that?” She jumped up and walked over to the mantle on the far side of the room. She picked up a picture of Clarendon standing next to a much younger looking Lance. Monica touched Lance’s face. Then she turned to face Clarendon. In a moment of clarity, she said, “When I saw him today, I wanted to bash Belinda’s face in. It took everything within me not to cause a scene.” She bunched her fists. “So, that means I’ve got to stay away from him.”

  Clarendon stood and walked over to her. “I was a rotten father and I need to make amends with my son.” He swept his hands over frames lining the wall that highlighted his illustrious career. “I have a legacy that’s his to claim, but he won’t let me near him. Lance shut me out and though I understand why, I can’t accept that. He’s started a new ministry with Noah Charleston. He should be standing with me.”

  Monica sympathized with the father whose pain for his son was palpable. “What did you do?”

  It was of no surprise when Clarendon shut down. “That is not for you to know.”

  Monica fiddled with the heart-shaped locket on her gold necklace. “I don’t mean to pry.” She changed the subject. “What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s easy. Just infiltrate Lance’s life. Get in—and then,” he laughed, “just be you.”

  She frowned. What did that mean? “You’re going to give me one hundred thousand dollars to just be myself?” She squinted. “I don’t get it.”

  “Yes, my dear. That’s all I want. If you agree, you’ll say goodbye to Atlanta and move back to Florida. I’ll buy you a house in Northport and you can furnish it to your liking. You and Quinn should be able to settle in without much fuss. Then, you can get started on getting me an audience with my son. I’ll hire you a nanny to help care for Quinn.”

  Monica shook her head and walked out to check on her daughter. Her feet sunk into the plush carpet as she made her way to Quinn’s bedroom. She cracked the door open and stuck her head inside.

  “Quinn?” Monica whispered. She tiptoed over to her two-year-old daughter’s crib. Quinn was fast asleep with her little bottom poked in the air. “Awww,” Monica crooned and reached over to stroke her daughter’s right cheek. Quinn released a gurgle and sighed. Monica’s heart melted. The only thing she enjoyed more than cooking was caring for her daughter. Quinn soothed her and made her less … crazy.

  She sighed. This was why she didn’t want to mess with Lance Forbes again. Seeing him made her want to do things she shouldn’t. “What should Mommy do, Quinn?” she whispered.

  She bit her lip. One hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. It was like tantalizing fruit dangling before her eyes. Monica licked her lips. She was definitely hungry. When it came to money, she could never have enough. One hundred thousand dollars was too much money to pass up.

  She tiptoed through the connecting doors and entered her suite. She scanned the room, admiring the golden hues and soft yellow tones. Everything from the carpeting to the comforter was custom made. Her room was exquisite and tasteful like the rest of the mansion where Clarendon resided.

  As his personal chef, Monica’s room did not look like any of the servant’s quarters. Instead, she lived like a queen with a nanny and a staff who catered to her every whim. She’d gotten spoiled. This luxurious life was addicting and hard to give up.

  Monica knew Clarendon’s staff thought she provided ‘extracurricular’ services. And though she had no qualms about delivering the goods, Clarendon had not wanted anything like that from her. Monica admitted she would not have minded because he was still a handsome man. Plus, she could see Lance in him, which made him even more desirable in her eyes. But no, Monty Clarendon hadn’t wanted her. He was a man of God, he told her. Yeah, the same man of God who was now blackmailing her into seducing his son.

  “I should just take the money and run,” Monica thought aloud. She wandered over to her nightstand, opened the top drawer and took out a picture. Monica held it with reverence. “Lance,” she crooned, kissing the picture several times before putting it on top of the nights
tand like a sacred treasure. She placed her hands on her lap. “Maybe God has a hand in this. Maybe God’s using Clarendon as a means for me to win Lance back.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” She looked at Lance’s picture for confirmation. She jumped to her feet and laughed with glee. “Why didn’t I see this before? God, you are so good to me. Thank you, Lord. Hallelujah! I hear Your voice. I am listening and I can see Your will clearly. Lance Forbes was meant to be mine and with Your help, Lord, I will get finally get him. I will be his wife.” Monica swooped her hands across the huge expanse of the room, similar to how Clarendon had done earlier. “All this will be mine, mine and Quinn’s. Quinn will have her father back and we will be a family again.”

  Monica dismissed the fact that Quinn was not Lance’s biological child. She forgot how she had used Quinn as a pawn to steal Lance from his first fiancée—Sydney Charleston, formerly Richardson—and one of her ex-best friends. She forgot she had been one of Sydney’s bridesmaids, who had convinced Lance to run off with her, even after knowing he had been with Belinda Santiago.

  Instead, caught up in her euphoria, Monica packed her and Quinn’s belongings like Clarendon had told her to. “Monica Riley Forbes… Quinn Riley Forbes…” she said over and over, speaking it into reality.

  2

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. Noah, yes,” Sydney Charleston exclaimed.

  Noah listened to satisfied groans beneath him and smiled. “You like that?”

  Sydney hugged his strong shoulders. “Oh, yes. But you already know that.” She gasped for breath. Her brown skin shined, her hair wet with perspiration.

  His wife smiled. It was a slow small smile, which widened to reveal lovely white teeth.

  Yes, that’s how it should be.

  Sydney wore the smile of a satisfied woman. His woman. Noah felt his chest expand, knowing he had put that glow on her face. “I love you,” he said, touching her cheek.