Free Tell Me No Lies by Annie Solomon

didn't want him to see the tears.
    Slowly, Hank released her. Jesus Christ... "Your father? Luka Kole was your "
    "Yes. How many times do I have to say it?"
    "His name is Kole. Yours is Baker."
    "My stepfather's name. Luka and I... we are were estranged. I haven't seen him in years."
    He sank on the couch beside her. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie?" Her hands were clasped tight as though holding her together, and he fought against a surge of pity.
    "You come to me on one of the most important evenings of my life with a scandal that could have led to bad publicity or worse. What did you expect me to do? My father was not a nice man. I don't care who murdered him. He probably deserved it. I don't want to have anything to do with him."
    "Why are you here, then?"
    She was silent for a moment. Figuring out her story or steeling herself to tell the truth?
    "He had something that belonged to me. I wanted it back."
    "What?"
    She held up the empty picture frame. The silver sides caught the light "A picture of my mother."
    Hank studied her. Was she lying again?
    "She died when I was six. I have no photographs of her. Luka refused to give me one."
    "So you ripped the place apart looking for one?"
    "I told you, I didn't do this. The door was open. This was how I found it."
    "If that's true "
    "It is."
    "Then who did do this? What were they looking for?"
    "How am I supposed to know? I told you, I haven't seen Luka Kole in years."
    He appraised her. Even in distress she dazzled. The color had returned to her face, and the exotically slanted eyes, now gray, now blue, had a bruised look. He had a swift urge to pull her against him, tell her it was okay, he believed her.
    But he didn't.
    "Where were you yesterday around five o'clock?"
    "You can't seriously think I had anything to do with "
    "Where were you?"
    She gazed down at her clenched hands, and as though realizing they were a sign of weakness, she pried mem apart When she looked back up, whatever softness or vulnerability he'd seen in her face had vanished. The ice princess was back.
    "I was at home getting ready for the party. At least twenty people can attest to that." She looked at him as though he were some lower order of insect.
    He didn't let it bother him. Instead, he pulled out a pocket notebook and a pen. Tossed them in her lap.
    "Good. Write them down."
    Alex picked up the pen and prayed he couldn't see her hand shaking. Her brain was thick with confusion; desperately she tried to keep all the lies she'd told straight in her head. And she fought to remember even one name the florist, the caterer, bartender, waitstaff. Plenty of people had seen her. They filed by inside her head in a blur. Sonya. There was always Sonya.
    She started to write Sonya's name at the top of the list, then crossed it off. She couldn't let the police question the elderly housekeeper; it would frighten her to death. After her experience with the Moscow authorities, Sonya had a natural dread of officials.
    God, what if he asked for proof that Luka was her father? What would she do then?
    But that at least was closer to the truth than the rest. Luka had been like a father to her. He'd gotten her out of Russia, seen that she attended the best boarding schools, that she was safely hidden away from all her father's enemies. And if he didn't bring her home for Christmas or the summer holidays, if he never wrote or sent cookies, at least he'd kept her alive. What more could she have asked of him?
    Emotion clogged her throat again, and she fought to clear it. She would not break down in front of Hank Bonner.
    As if he knew she was thinking about him, he said, "What's taking so long?" He knelt down in front of her and glanced at the almost blank page. "Look write down Edie's Flowers. I saw their truck outside your house yesterday."
    He was watching her closely, but something had softened in his face. For a moment it almost seemed as if he felt sorry for her.
    "Edie's Flowers," he said gruffly. "Write it