His Other Lie (A Stella Fall Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Two)

CHAPTER ONE Stella Fall’s hand shook as she raised the g*n. Its grip felt unfamiliar in her palm. The head-and-torso target, ten long yards away in the indoor shooting range, seemed like an impossible goal as she stared at it, narrowing her ice-blue eyes. Crippling fear flooded her at what she was about to do. Joining the FBI Academy’s trainee agent program had been a crazy decision. This was her first firearms training session since she’d arrived at Quantico two days ago. It felt way beyond her scope of expertise and it always would be. She didn’t like guns and was scared of them. They brought back memories that she didn’t want to relive. At that moment, her mother’s mocking voice resounded in her mind. “You’re never going to amount to anything. You never learn. You’re like your father, and look what happened to him.” She remembered her dad coming home from work, taking off his jacket and laying down his g*n belt with a tired sigh before locking the weapon away. When her mother started one of their inevitable screaming fights later in the night, Stella would curl up in bed, squeezing her eyes shut, praying that Rhonda Fall never found the key to that cupboard. Had her dad turned his trusty service pistol onto himself in the end? Had he driven somewhere he knew he’d never be found, and killed himself? Was that why he’d disappeared? That was Stella’s worst fear, the one that caused terrible nightmares, and it was why she’d never been interested in guns. Most probably, it was the reason that she’d been so strongly drawn to the field of psychology, where words could influence an outcome, rather than relying on a speeding chunk of lead. She sensed Carrie’s gaze on her and heard the tall trainee agent give a mocking laugh. Carrie was part of the new intake, and had arrived at the academy at the same time as Stella. When Stella had stepped into the dormitory with her bags, Carrie had been sitting in the small lounge, chatting with three of the men. “I guess you guys will have to put up with having a girl in your class,” she’d been joking in a confident voice as Stella passed the door. Then Carrie had glanced sideways and, seeing Stella, her eyes had narrowed. “Two girls, maybe?” one of the men had asked, in equally joking tones. “Well!” Carrie had exclaimed, sounding as if her sense of humor had completely disappeared. She’d assumed she was the only woman in the new intake, Stella realized. Instead of regarding Stella as an ally, she perceived her as a threat. Now, Carrie had just finished her first target practice session. She was familiar with guns, as were the four other male students in the small shooting class. Stella was the only one who’d never handled them before and she’d fallen behind the others as she’d fumbled her way through the unfamiliar processes of loading, unloading, holstering, and unholstering. Everyone else was done and watching her, which only added to the unwanted pressure. “Any time, Fall,” Marc, the instructor, said loudly, sounding impatient. “It doesn’t matter about accuracy the first time. Just remember what you’ve been taught and go through the process. Your aim and muscle memory will build.” Through her earmuffs she could hear more sniggers from Carrie and one of the men. They were laughing at her, not with her. She hadn’t thought her first few days here would be anything like this. She took a deep breath and gathered her fragmented thoughts. Dragged her mind away from her fears and instead, remembered her father’s steady and pragmatic approach. There was nothing special about a g*n, he’d always said. It was simply one of the tools of the trade. Never a first resort, but preferably also not a last resort. Just something to be used if necessary, in a dangerous situation. She breathed out. Her hands had steadied and now felt rock-still. Surprisingly, she felt a competent calmness fill her. Remembering the steps she had to take, she sighted, identified the target, and then gently squeezed the trigger. Through her earmuffs the explosion of sound was muted. She sighted, squeezed again. Calm and sure. Center mass—the chest. Then a shot to the head. Then center mass again. Then one more to the head. And then repeat once more. She was breathing hard as she lowered the g*n, brushing away a strand of long, dark hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Looking at the target more closely, she stared at it in surprise. Six pretty accurate shots. The first head shot had been a couple of inches wide. The others were all on target. “Are you sure you haven’t shot before?” Marc asked, sounding incredulous. The surprise in his voice made her feel proud, but she was getting resentful looks from the men in the group, especially those who had missed shots in their first round. Stella shook her head. “Never. My dad was a champion, though. He used to win gold in the local competitions whenever he entered.” “You’ve clearly inherited that ability. That’s an impressive first effort. In fact, I’ve never seen a novice student shoot so well. You might not like guns. I see that and I understand. But when you need to use one, calmness and accuracy can save your life.” “Thank you,” Stella said, glowing at the praise. She turned and smiled at Carrie, hoping that her newfound competency would help her get on friendly footing with the slim brunette, but Carrie looked furious. Stella realized that she’d shown Carrie up by shooting better. Instead of winning her friendship, she’d now become an actual enemy. “Let’s head outside. It’s time for the obstacle course training,” Marc said. They followed the stocky, muscular trainer out of the indoor range and into the sunny afternoon. It was the beginning of June and the air was fresh with recent rain, and warm with the promise of summer. Walking at the back of the group, Stella followed the others across the well-trimmed grass and onto a gravel path which led to a wooded area. There, they met up with another group that must have finished up at one of the other shooting ranges. As the trainees jogged on the spot, or did a few push-ups to warm up, Stella realized how fit and strong all of them looked. She wished she’d spent more time pushing weights in the gym. Running—her chosen sport—couldn’t develop the strength and power she saw here. Carrie took off her blue sweater, and Stella noticed the play of muscles in her upper arms. Everyone had been building themselves up in anticipation of coming here. Everyone except her, thanks to her last-minute acceptance in this challenging four-month program. She hadn’t had time to prepare. “Along this path is an obstacle course. There are twenty obstacles over the distance of about a mile,” Marc told them. “The obstacles will test your strength, agility, coordination, and speed. Strength is the biggest factor and the one that most new agents need to develop. Physical injury is the most common reason for a trainee not completing the program. That’s why we have gyms onsite that you are encouraged to use anytime.” Carrie nodded eagerly. Stella felt filled with doubt all over again as Marc continued. “Being an FBI agent means being physically and mentally skilled. We need your minds, we need your relevant qualifications, you are all highly intelligent individuals. But you also need to be able to chase down and tackle a violent suspect, and defend yourself from physical attacks. So although your brains got you here, your strength and fitness will keep you here. This time around, we’re including this obstacle course as part of your first physical test. In order to graduate, you have to pass at least two of the three tests. The first is now, the second midway through the course, and the final one is in the last week of your training.” Stella swallowed down her nerves. If she didn’t pass, her future here would already be at stake. “We’ll send you off in pairs, so get in line. The obstacles on the left and right side of the track are identical, so it doesn’t matter which you choose.” Marc checked his stopwatch. Stella shuffled into line, finding herself all the way at the back. Thankfully, Carrie was just in front of her in the same line. Stella had already pegged her as being fiercely competitive, and had worried that she might position herself as Stella’s partner, looking to beat her in the obstacles to make up for the shooting range. “First pair, go!” Marc called loudly. Stella craned around. The path curved left, so the only obstacle she could see was a wooden ladder. She saw the first trainees, both men, scramble up the tall ladders, over the top, and down again. They did it surprisingly fast, and then they disappeared from sight. “Next pair.” Stella felt her butterflies gather as the pairs were counted down. In front of her, Carrie was springing from foot to foot and swinging her arms, warming herself up for the challenge. “Next pair!” Marc’s shouted words broke the silence. This time it was Carrie’s turn. She and her partner sped off, leaving Stella the last in her row. She watched as Carrie lithely clambered the ladder, vaulting neatly over the top rung and shimmying down again. “Last pair!” She was off, sprinting toward the ladder. The wooden rungs felt cold and slippery in her nervous grip. She headed up as fast as she could. Too fast, in fact. Her foot slid off the rung and she scrabbled for purchase, feeling terrified that she’d fall all the way back down while Marc was watching. She didn’t. She regained her footing and reached the top. It felt dizzyingly high and her arms were already aching. Clumsily, she scrambled over the top and down, praying she wouldn’t slip again. Pounding around the corner, she realized she was already behind the blond man who had set off at the same time as her. That meant she would be the last to return. Oh well, it was better than the humiliation of being overtaken, Stella thought, staring at the next obstacle, a high net hung between two sturdy wooden poles. It sagged and swayed as she clutched at the rough rope, hauling herself to the top and scrambling over the scarily unstable structure. Dashing around the next bend as fast as she could, Stella negotiated a trio of wide ditches, followed by a knotted rope that had to be climbed as far as the red banner flying high above. Seeing her arms were close to quitting on her, she used her legs to fight the battle, bracing her feet against the knots, frustrated by how the swinging of the rope resisted her attempts to get purchase. Then, around the next bend, her worst nightmare. A row of rings hung from a beam high overhead. There was extra incentive to negotiate the line successfully because the beam was positioned over a deep, muddy ditch. Gritting her teeth, Stella leaped for the first ring, clutching it with both hands, her arms searing with the effort. She swung back and forth gaining momentum, and then dared to let go with one hand, making a desperate grab for the next ring. She got it. Hanging on hard, Stella repeated the process. Once more, she was successful, and from the third ring she battled her way to the fourth. But, as she prepared to tackle the fifth ring, she realized something terrible. The sixth ring—second last in the line—was not accessible. It was looped up, over the beam. And it wasn’t humanly possible to get from ring five to seven without dropping down into the ditch. Oh no, Stella thought. What a disaster. How had the others coped with it? Since none of them had been back by the time she left, she didn’t know. Probably they’d all dropped down into the ditch, but not all of them were as far behind the time as Stella was. She guessed she’d learn where the launderette was quicker than she’d thought. Bracing herself for the horrible tumble down, Stella let go and plummeted, sprawling into the muddy ditch. Grime coated her arms and legs, spattered her face. It took forever to scramble up its slippery sides. When she arrived back, there was a burst of derogatory sniggers from the sweaty and grimy team waiting by the finish. Stella expected that they would also have been covered in mud. But none of them were. How had they avoided having to let go? she wondered, feeling unfairly singled out. “Had some trouble with the rings?” Marc asked. “You’ve gone over time, I’m afraid. Ten seconds too slow. That’s a fail. Everyone else, you got a pass.” “There was a problem with the rings,” Stella said, wanting to explain. “Yes, we can see that, Fall,” Marc quipped, and all the others burst into louder laughter. Stella noticed Carrie’s triumphant grin. She was howling with laughter, clutching at her flat, taut stomach. Only then did it hit her. Carrie had sabotaged the course. Stella had gone after her, the final one to do that left-hand route. Carrie must have hung onto the last ring, turned back, and thrown the previous one up over the top pole, knowing that Stella wouldn’t make it. How could anyone do such a thing? Stella couldn’t believe the vindictiveness of the action. And the sabotage had succeeded beyond Carrie’s wildest dreams, as it had taken up those few precious seconds that had made the difference between a pass and a fail. Her future here was in jeopardy. One more fail and she’d be thrown out. Perhaps she’d end up not making the cut in any case. All her fears surged back. She was hopeless, hated by the others, and would never be good enough. But though she felt completely demoralized, in that moment she found a fire inside her, an inner strength she hadn’t known she possessed. So what if she was slow and had embarrassed herself in front of all her fellow trainees? She could strengthen and spend time in the gym. And so what if the others were going to give her a hard time? She wasn’t here to make friends, and in any case the best way to win friendship would be to show she was worthy of respect and had the guts to try again. You can do this, she told herself, as she turned her back on Carrie’s mocking gaze and strode away, brushing mud off her arms. Stick it out. Even if you feel like this again, you can always come back fighting. You’re going to graduate, Stella Fall, and more importantly, you’re going to do it at the top of your class.