Page 85 of Everyone’s a Liar

“Are we going to your friend’s apartment?”

Shaking her head, Bryce turned onto a main road that was still packed with rush-hour traffic.

“When I remembered staying in New Orleans, I also remembered driving to the FBI offices. The route took me right past Lake Oaks Park.”

Livia looked confused, as if her brain was still sluggish from the wine. Then her eyes abruptly widened.

“The park where my mother was supposed to have her mysterious meeting.”

“Exactly. I knew there was a reason it was so familiar when we went there.”

Livia took a moment, as if considering what Bryce had just told her. “Maybe I need more coffee, but I’m still confused. Are we going to the park?”

“Yes, but I’m not done telling you what else I remembered.”

“Okay. What else?”

“During my training, the special agent in charge of the local office would stop by to chat with us. His name was Jonathon Rice.”

“I still don’t … ​wait.” Livia sucked in an audible gasp, her hand pressing against her heart, as if it was racing. “Rice? Oh my God. That was the name on my mom’s note. You think she was meeting at the park with the FBI?”

On cue, the Lake Oaks Park came into view and Bryce veered onto the exit to pull into the empty parking lot.

“The field office is just down the road.” She pointed along the lakeshore. “It’s not fancy, but it’s close enough to the main road to be easily visible when you go there. This would be a perfect meeting place if your mom didn’t want to be seen going into a building owned by the feds.”

Livia slowly nodded. “That makes sense, but why would she need the FBI?”

“I don’t know, but I took a chance and called Special Agent Rice before I woke you up. He agreed to meet us this morning at his house.”

Livia bit her bottom lip, looking torn between hope and resignation that they were falling down another rabbit hole.

“It’s kind of a stretch.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Punching in the address she’d gotten from Jonathon Rice, Bryce followed the GPS directions to the outskirts of New Orleans.

It was a quiet neighborhood with small, farm-style homes arranged in neat rows. They were unique enough to give them character, but each was painted white with green shutters and black doors. Was there some sort of homeowners association that required the color combination? She was guessing yes when she noticed the recently mowed lawns and precisely trimmed hedges.

She smiled as she pulled into the driveway of the corner house. It made sense that a lawman would choose a neighborhood with rigid rules and regulations. They were trained to appreciate people who lived by proper procedure.

Double-checking to be sure she was at the right address, Bryce exited the SUV, waiting for Livia to join her before climbing onto the small porch that was covered by a green-and-white awning.

Lifting her hand, she started to rap on the door only to have it pulled open by a tall, lean man with dark skin and gray hair buzzed close to his scalp. Jonathon Rice hadn’t changed much over the past few years. He still stood with his back straight and his shoulders squared as if about to march into battle, and his features were still remarkably smooth despite the fact that he must be in his sixties.

“Special Agent Swift,” he murmured, his dark gaze sweeping toward Livia as if surprised she wasn’t alone.

“It’s Deputy Swift now, but please call me Bryce,” she said.

He nodded. “And I’m Jonathon.” Stepping back, he waved them into the long, narrow living room that was sparsely furnished with a nondescript couch and two matching armchairs. It would have been depressingly boring if it wasn’t for the bookshelf that stretched to the ceiling with leather-bound books and the large window overlooking the front yard. “I’m surprised you left the agency, Bryce,” Jonathon said with a blunt honesty. “I watched your training and marked you as someone who was going to make her way to the top of the FBI.”

Bryce felt the familiar pang of loss flare through her. Her future with the FBI had ended the day Benjamin had been shot.

“It’s a long story.” She nodded toward her companion, eager to change the subject. “This is my friend. Livia Benoit.”

The older man arched a brow. “Benoit?”

Bryce nodded. “Henri Benoit’s granddaughter.”