Truth or Dare Read online

  Books by Fern Michaels

  Fate & Fortune

  Sweet Vengeance

  Holly and Ivy

  Fancy Dancer

  No Safe Secret

  Wishes for Christmas

  About Face

  Perfect Match

  A Family Affair

  Forget Me Not

  The Blossom Sisters

  Balancing Act

  Tuesday’s Child

  Betrayal

  Southern Comfort

  To Taste the Wine

  Sins of the Flesh

  Sins of Omission

  Return to Sender

  Mr. and Miss

  Anonymous

  Up Close and Personal

  Fool Me Once

  Picture Perfect

  The Future Scrolls

  Kentucky Sunrise

  Kentucky Heat

  Kentucky Rich

  Plain Jane

  Charming Lily

  What You Wish For

  The Guest List

  Listen to Your Heart

  Celebration

  Yesterday

  Finders Keepers

  Annie’s Rainbow

  Sara’s Song

  Vegas Sunrise

  Vegas Heat

  Vegas Rich

  Whitefire

  Wish List

  Dear Emily

  Christmas at

  Timberwoods

  The Sisterhood Novels

  Need to Know

  Crash and Burn

  Point Blank

  In Plain Sight

  Eyes Only

  Kiss and Tell

  Blindsided

  Gotcha!

  Home Free

  Déjà Vu

  Cross Roads

  Game Over

  Deadly Deals

  Vanishing Act

  Razor Sharp

  Under the Radar

  Final Justice

  Collateral Damage

  Fast Track

  Hokus Pokus

  Hide and Seek

  Free Fall

  Lethal Justice

  Sweet Revenge

  The Jury

  Vendetta

  Payback

  Weekend Warriors

  The Men of the

  Sisterhood Novels

  Truth or Dare

  High Stakes

  Fast and Loose

  Double Down

  The Godmothers Series

  Getaway (E-Novella

  Exclusive)

  Spirited Away

  (E-Novella Exclusive)

  Hideaway (E-Novella

  Exclusive)

  Classified

  Breaking News

  Deadline

  Late Edition

  Exclusive

  The Scoop

  E-Book Exclusives

  Desperate Measures

  Seasons of Her Life

  To Have and To Hold

  Serendipity

  Captive Innocence

  Captive Embraces

  Captive Passions

  Captive Secrets

  Captive Splendors

  Cinders to Satin

  For All Their Lives

  Texas Heat

  Texas Rich

  Texas Fury

  Texas Sunrise

  Anthologies

  Mistletoe Magic

  Winter Wishes

  The Most Wonderful

  Time

  When the Snow Falls

  Secret Santa

  A Winter Wonderland

  I’ll Be Home for

  Christmas

  Making Spirits Bright

  Holiday Magic

  Snow Angels

  Silver Bells

  Comfort and Joy

  Sugar and Spice

  Let It Snow

  A Gift of Joy

  Five Golden Rings

  Deck the Halls

  Jingle All the Way

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  FERN MICHAELS

  TRUTH OR DARE

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Fern Michaels

  Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of KAP 5, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Zebra Books Mass-Market Paperback Printing: July 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4071-2

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4072-9

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4072-8

  I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of the real Demetri Pappas.

  Rest in peace, Demetri Pappas, rest in peace.

  Prologue

  It was an enormous truck. White in color, with brilliant decals of fruit and vegetables stenciled over the wide side panels. In the center of the panel was large, vivid red lettering proclaiming that the truck was owned by B. M. Produce; then in smaller letters it read, “Fresh produce today and every day.” At the very bottom, at the back end of the huge truck was ID for the company’s business license.

  There were four such trucks in the United States. One in Charleston, South Carolina; one in Falls Church, Virginia; one in Denver, Colorado; and one in San Diego, California. The company also owned twenty-four other trucks the size of a school minibus. Six each were allocated to the four geographical areas of the company that housed the bigger trucks.

  The four large trucks were used for transporting produce. The twenty-four smaller trucks were used for promotional purposes to ensure that B. M. Produce became a household name. The only thing the smaller trucks did was roam the streets and towns so that people would see the trucks with the colorful decals and come to recognize the name of the company. The trucks patrolled the areas from six in the morning till eight o’clock at night.

  The drivers were paid well for doing
the cushy job.

  B. M. Produce had been in business for seventeen years. To date, each and every employee had been hired seventeen years ago, when the company started. Not one employee had left the company, and no new ones had been hired.

  The main headquarters for B. M. Produce was in San Diego, California, where the company was run by a man named Ortiz Ozay. He set up the driving schedules for the four big main trucks. He was the man responsible for the intricate locking mechanisms on the rear doors of each truck for special deliveries so that not even the drivers could open the doors.

  The drivers called Ozay the traveling man because once a month, like clockwork, he would visit the other three locations to check on how things were going. At least that’s what they were told.

  In order to work, and keep working, for B. M. Produce each employee had to agree never to ask questions and to mind their own business and also agree not to talk to anyone about the company.

  The employees agreed because who was interested in hearing about a load of overripe melons, stinky cabbage, and rotting lettuce?

  None of the employees had ever seen the inside of the trucks they drove. If they had, they would have seen benches anchored to the floor and piles and piles of sleeping bags. They would have gagged at the sharp ammonia smell of urine and the fetid odor of human feces.

  Because . . . B. M. Produce wasn’t really in the business of transporting fruits and vegetables at all.

  B. M. Produce was in the business of trafficking little blond-haired ten-year-old girls.

  Chapter One

  Demetri Pappas, doctor of veterinary medicine, dropped to his haunches to stare at his patient. There was a protocol to these visits that both doctor and patient adhered to every six months. The doctor spoke in Greek first, then back in English to see if his patient remembered his earlier teachings before having gone to live with Jack Emery.

  Cyrus yipped, then yipped again.

  “Fetch me the tennis ball. When you bring it to me, drop it into my hand.” It was all said in Greek. Cyrus rose to his feet, all 160 magnificent pounds of pure dog. He raced to the end of the room, pawed through the toys, and found the tennis ball, not the red plastic ball, not the yellow rubber ball but the green tennis ball, and then carried it in his mouth back to where Dr. Pappas waited. He dropped the ball into his hands, offered up another yip, and smacked his paw into the doctor’s open palm. He waited for the praise he knew was coming. No treat, however; Dr. Pappas was stingy with his treats, and Cyrus knew it.

  “Well done, Cyrus. That was our last test. And you passed each one. Jack is going to be very proud of you. Go along, Cyrus, you have ten minutes to visit your old friends out in the yard. Ten minutes.” This order was also given in rapid-fire Greek. Cyrus trotted off, allowing the doctor to home in on Joseph Espinosa, who was watching the scene play out in dumbfound amazement.

  “Cyrus understands Greek?” He might as well have said, “Cyrus just returned from the moon,” by the expression on his face.

  “But of course. All my dogs understand my language. Every animal I breed is extraordinary, as you can see by Cyrus. His intelligence is superior to that of some humans. His stamina is equal to that of several men. He knows right from wrong. He is loyal to me and to his master, in this case, Jack Emery. He would and will kill for either one of us if he sensed our lives were in danger. He understands that children need to be protected at all times, at all costs. Cyrus graduated canine school at the top of his class of five.”

  “Uh-huh,” was all Espinosa could think of to say.

  “So, tell me, Mr. Espinosa, how is Jack and why did you bring Cyrus today?”

  “Root canal. Jack had already canceled it twice, and the doctor told him no more, and the tooth was bothering him. Jack said he called to clear it with you.”

  “Yes, my assistant took the call. My checkups are mandatory, and I suffer no cancelations. Jack knows this, and that is why you’re here. In other words, Mr. Espinosa, I run a tight ship.”

  “Uh-huh,” Espinosa said again.

  Espinosa watched as the doctor took a beef-flavored stick from a jar on the counter and slipped it into a plastic sleeve that he then placed in the cylinder that was Cyrus’s report. A ritual. The doctor looked down at his watch just as Cyrus sauntered through the door. He looked around, then trotted over to the doctor, and waited for the doctor to tie the cylinder to his collar.

  “Do not remove this cylinder, Mr. Espinosa. That is for Jack to do. It’s part of our ritual. In addition to my warning, be advised that if you were to try to take off the cylinder Cyrus would take off your hand.”

  “Uh-huh,” Espinosa said.

  “This visit is now over. Cyrus, it was lovely seeing you again. We’ll meet again in six months. Take care of your master and anyone else who needs your help. Let’s have a hug, and then you can be on your way.”

  Espinosa watched as Cyrus stood on his hind legs and wrapped his front paws around the roly-poly doctor. Then he nuzzled the man under the chin. He let loose with two sharp yips, turned, and headed for the door. He didn’t look back. Espinosa scurried to keep up with the prancing dog.

  Outside, the compound was quiet. Espinosa wondered how many dogs were housed here. He asked Cyrus, not expecting an answer. Cyrus barked seven times. So much for being stupid. Seven dogs at fifty grand a pop was some serious money. He could hardly wrap his mind around a dog, any dog, being worth fifty grand. Except maybe Cooper. Cooper. Don’t go there, he warned himself.

  Once inside the shiny black Silverado, Cyrus settled himself, buckled his seat belt, and went to sleep.

  Espinosa tooled along the winding country road that would take him back to the District and the BOLO Building, admiring the trees on either side bursting with fall color. Jack would be waiting to pick up Cyrus, he let his mind wander. He was supposed to meet up with Ted and Maggie after lunch to do a photo shoot with some gung ho new congressman who loved getting his picture in the papers. He hated puff assignments, as did Ted and Maggie. But those puff assignments paid the bills.

  He sniffed and smiled. Alexis had used his truck a few days ago to pick up some beauty supplies, and the scent still lingered. He liked the powdery floral scent, whatever it was. Lilacs, maybe. He missed Alexis, and she’d only been gone for thirty-six hours. The girls were on a mission that, according to Alexis, was so hush-hush she couldn’t even tell him where she was going, much less tell him what it was about.

  Espinosa looked at the clock on the dashboard. He had made good time on the way out to Reston and was making good time on his return. His thoughts turned to how pleased Jack was going to be with Cyrus’s stellar report.

  It happened all at once. A flash out of the corner of his eye, a streak, movement of some kind. A deer? Cyrus’s bloodcurdling bark, the dog’s seat belt clicking open. Espinosa almost lost control of the Silverado. He took his foot off the gas pedal, slowed, and steered the big truck to the shoulder of the road. Cyrus pawed the window, then pressed the door handle. The door flew open, and he was out like he’d been shot from a cannon, sprinting, and then airborne down the embankment. He was lost to sight before Espinosa even got out of the truck.

  Espinosa plowed through the brush, and before he knew what was happening, he lost his footing and rolled down the embankment, Cyrus’s ear-pounding barks almost splitting his eardrums. He shook his head to clear it and then did a mental check to see if he’d broken or sprained anything. Other than a sore rear end, he thought he was okay. He opened his eyes wide, not sure he was seeing what he was seeing as Cyrus continued to bark relentlessly.

  Three little kids, filthy dirty in equally filthy dirty clothing, clustered together, their frightened eyes on Cyrus. Espinosa swallowed hard. He came from a huge family of eleven siblings. He knew a thing or two about kids. First things first. “Cyrus, shut the hell up, or I’m going to call Dr. Pappas. I see them. I know what to do. Chill, okay?”

  Either the threat of calling the doctor or Espinosa’s calm tone or the big dog�
�s just getting tired worked because he stopped barking. The fur on the nape of his neck stood straight up, his ears went flat against his head just as his tail dropped between his legs. Warrior pose.

  Espinosa struggled to take a deep breath, the doctor’s words ringing in his ears that dogs like Cyrus knew to protect children. Surely, the monster dog wouldn’t turn on him. Or would he?

  “Like I said, Cyrus, I know what to do. Just let me do it, okay?” He waited. Cyrus yipped and advanced a few steps, the children cowering against each other.

  “Okay, kids, listen up. My name is Joseph. This is Cyrus. He means you no harm. I won’t hurt you. How did you get here? Are you lost? Tell me where you live, and I’ll take you home. Are you hungry?” When there was no response to his questions, Espinosa wondered why there were no tears. He estimated the age of the oldest girl going by how tall she was to be maybe seven, the other girl, almost as tall, six or so. Maybe they were twins. The little guy looked to be four, perhaps five years old. He was missing a shoe and a sock.

  Espinosa tried wheedling. “Come on, tell me your names so I can take you home.” The sudden thought that maybe they didn’t want to go home hit him. Maybe they had run away from abusive parents. He corrected that thought. These kids, from what he could see by the layers of dirt and the condition of their clothes, looked to have been on the run for a while. All three were skinny and scrawny. They looked alike. Siblings.

  Cyrus barked. Do something already.

  Espinosa pondered the situation. How was he going to get all three kids to the top of the embankment without them cutting and running? Cyrus, of course. They were afraid of him. Cyrus could herd them to the top, and then he would secure them in the backseat of the Silverado and head for the BOLO Building. He’d send out a call for an emergency meeting. A dire emergency meeting.

  “Okay, listen up, everyone. This is what we’re going to do.” Espinosa spoke directly at Cyrus, whom he knew would understand. “You herd them to the top of the embankment. You watch, and I’ll put them in the truck one by one. I’ll call Jack and the others to meet up at the BOLO Building, and we’ll work things out there. Right now, these kids are just too damn scared to do anything. Let’s do it, big guy.”