Fake I.D. Wife

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Well, I would. Petra!” Diane called up the stairs. “Come here immediately!”

  “What are you reading, Eric?” Elise asked softly.

  Eric showed her the book, which appeared worn and well-read, and Elise felt as if her heart had stopped. A Horse and a Half. She and Brian had bought the book for their son, and she had read it to him countless times.

  “Petra!” Diane shrilled again, but when Elise looked up it was to see Minna standing in the middle of the living room, staring at her and Eric, her expression unreadable.

  Then Elise’s attention was drawn to the top of the stairs by the clunk-clunk of thick-soled shoes. A sullen-faced young woman with long blond hair appeared, cell phone in hand.

  “Yes, Missus,” she said, accent heavy eastern European.

  “I don’t pay you to talk to your boyfriend on the telephone.”

  Petra rolled her eyes and said something in another language to the person on the other end of the phone connection. In Polish, Elise guessed. Then the nanny clicked off the cell phone and held out her hand.

  “Come,” she called to Eric.

  And Diane pointed up the stairs. Tucking the book under one arm, Eric slowly made his way up.

  Elise choked back her resentment and hurt.

  Eric was her child and she’d missed so much of his early years. Even now she couldn’t hold him, read to him, kiss him when she wanted.

  She did a slow burn as Diane sped her through the first floor. Elise noted all the changes and additions the other woman had made to Mitchell House. Her sister-in-law acted as if she owned the place, and no doubt the money to redecorate had come straight from Eric’s inheritance. The woman had taken over everything that had once belonged to her, Elise thought—starting with her son.

  At that moment, she realized merely getting Eric out of the way of danger didn’t seem to be enough. She wanted the guilty person indicted. She wanted whoever had killed Brian, whoever had taken everything from her—husband, son, life, home—and had set her up for a long-term jail sentence to pay.

  And she wouldn’t count Diane Mitchell out of the running for murderer just yet.

  Chapter Eight

  She was innocent. Logan was as certain of that as he was of his own name.

  He hadn’t meant to imply otherwise, hadn’t meant to drive Elise away. It had been the cop in him playing devil’s advocate, but she couldn’t know that. She’d assumed he believed the worst of her, an impression he meant to correct, if only he could figure out how to do it without digging himself in deeper.

  He couldn’t help but think about it when he sequestered himself in his office at the club, where he proceeded to change the surveillance tapes. He’d set up cameras at the street-level entrance, in the waiting area, in the office hallway and of course, in the club, where three cameras covered the stage and dance floor, seating area and bar. So far, they’d never had to use the tapes for anything—they’d never been robbed and they’d never had a major brawl where someone got hurt—but the cameras were a necessary precaution.

  Logan replaced the last tape and put the ones he’d recovered into their labeled boxes.

  He hadn’t been certain about Elise at first. He hadn’t even cared. He’d been too wrapped up in his own reasons for stalking Kyle Mitchell. But suddenly his reasons were her reasons, and now no doubt remained in his mind.

  Elise Mitchell was innocent of her husband’s murder.

  The mysterious car in the ravine had caught him immediately, especially since the authorities had neglected to investigate further. And her reaction…God, her reaction still had him reeling.

  The way she’d talked about having been positive that Diane was the murderer, about escaping from prison to save her son before something could happen to him, about her uncertainty of what to think now—Elise had convinced him of her innocence without even trying.

  And now he had to reexamine his position, change his own plans.

  Now he had to help her.

  Whether it was the cop in him indignant at yet another injustice, or whether it simply was a matter of getting too close, of starting to care too much, he wasn’t certain. He only knew he would dig for the truth until he found it.

  The Mitchells of the world got away with too much too often—especially Kyle Mitchell.

  Not this time.

  Not on his watch.

  Kyle Mitchell was responsible for Ginny’s death, Logan was certain.

  Why not for his own brother’s, as well?

  All he had to do was prove it. Elise didn’t know it yet, but she was going to help him find the proof he needed to absolve them both.

  “GOOD JOB,” Cass said, as she and Elise put finishing touches to their makeup in the ladies lounge right before the club opened. “You’re in. That’s great. I wish I could be there, a fly on the wall, to watch you work it.”

  “Mostly I’ll be working away from there, running around to make pickups and merely delivering the auction items to Mitchell House.”

  “You’ll think of something to get some quality time in there, with your son.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Elise dropped her mascara wand and lipstick into her bag and relaxed while Cass finished. The ladies’ lounge harked back to the old days, with plush stools before a counter and mirror whose frame was studded with colored glass blobs that looked like jewels. The room’s colors were jewel-tones, as well—deep red with blue and gold touches.

  “In the meantime, I’ve got some good news myself,” Cass said, twirling on her stool, transformation into exotic woman complete. “Next week Gideon is going to let me start introducing acts, and, uh…maybe do a little sleight of hand while I’m on stage.”

  “This makes you happy, right?”

  “Are you kidding?” Cass struck a theatrical pose. “I live to perform!”

  “Then, good for you!”

  They squealed like teenagers and hugged, and Elise wondered whether or not she should spill everything about her own situation. After all, if she couldn’t trust Cass, who could she trust?

  “I have a plan.”

  “To get Eric?”

  Elise nodded. “The fund-raiser is next week. I’ll be cut loose right after the auction. I’ll dance with my ‘husband’ and then simply disappear, grab Eric and use one of the boats to get to Michigan.”

  “The nanny isn’t going to let you into the house and then let you walk off with him.”

  “The nanny will probably be more interested in talking to her boyfriend on the phone or watching television than worrying about what’s going on in Eric’s room. There’s a tunnel between the house and the boathouse. By the time anyone realizes he’s gone, it will be too late.”

  “A week doesn’t give you much time to get cozy with your son. Or to get a lot of cash in your pocket.”

  Which was the biggest stumbling block in her plan. “I’ll think of something.”

  “If I wasn’t broke myself…I could spare an extra fifty.”

  “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle it.”

  “Maybe Gideon—”

  “No! You can’t tell him, Cass. You can’t tell anyone. Promise me.”

  Cass nodded. “It’s your call.”

  Elise had been thinking about the money issue, trying not to panic. And then when she’d toured her own house and had seen what money from Brian’s estate had wrought—money that should belong to her and did belong to Eric—it had triggered something inside her.

  Making the guilty person pay with jail time didn’t seem likely, no matter how much she wanted it. But paying with money was a different matter. There was sure to be cash around, maybe lots of it in the safe.

  And if they hadn’t changed that, too, she knew the combination.

  It wouldn’t be stealing, she told herself.

  What Diane and Kyle had done and were still doing was stealing. They were living off money that belonged to Eric, that in reality should belong to her.

  She was merely goi
ng to take what was already theirs.

  THEY WERE HALFWAY HOME from the club to North Bluff and traveling in awkward silence before Logan cleared his throat and said, “About this morning, I’m sorry if you thought I was accusing you of your husband’s murder.”

  “You weren’t?” Elise asked, her tone purposely cool.

  “No. I think you’re innocent.”

  “Sure you do.” But she didn’t sound convinced.

  “I didn’t at first, but now I’m a believer. Honest. And I want to help.”

  “Help how?”

  “Nab the bad guy.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  When she didn’t laugh at the joke, he said, “So tell me again why Diane was staying with you.”

  He could feel her eyes on him in the dark as he stared ahead at the road. Her gaze was practically boring into his brain, trying to pick at his psyche. He clutched the wheel hard, waiting, wondering why it was so damn important to him that she believe him. He was attracted to more than her looks. More than the spirit that kept sparks shooting between them.

  How could he not admire a woman who would go through hell to save her child?

  That kind of loyalty—the kind he’d never had from his own mother who had abandoned him and his sister when they were teenagers—was something that tugged at his very core.

  But it was obvious the connection didn’t go the other way. He sensed Elise assessing him as usual, gauging whether or not she could trust him.

  He wasn’t sure she did, even when she said, “Because Kyle was in Springfield.”

  “On government business.”

  “Right.”

  “But the state senate wasn’t in session then.”

  “No, but he’d gone to his office there for a couple of days to take care of some things.”

  “I wonder how easy that would be to check out.”

  “From three years ago? Difficult if not impossible.”

  “So did Diane always stay with you when her husband was out of town?”

  “No, never before. As a matter of fact, she and Kyle did their best to avoid us,” Elise admitted. “But that particular night, Diane claimed that she’d had too much to drink at the yacht club party and she didn’t want to drive home until she’d slept it off. When she put it that way, her staying seemed reasonable.”

  Stopping for a red light, Logan was able to take his attention from the road for a moment. Elise was absorbed in her own thoughts, unaware of his watching her.

  Streetlights limned her silhouette, which was becoming as familiar to him as his own reflection. The dress she was wearing was low cut, and his gaze swept down the length of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder to rest in the dark hollow between her breasts.

  Hunger swept through him, so fierce that he could envision taking her right there on the front seat of the car. A tempting prospect…

  Suddenly he realized she was staring at him staring at her, and he came to with a jerk. Her lips were parted and her tongue darted between them.

  An invitation?

  “Logan…” Her low tone curled through his gut.

  “Yeah?”

  “The light…it’s green.”

  “Ah, so it is.”

  He stepped on the accelerator and shot through the intersection, while he fought to get himself back in control.

  “Let’s go back to Kyle’s being out of town,” he said, meaning to keep his mind where it belonged for the rest of the ride. “So he went on a lot of business trips. Define ‘a lot.’”

  “Sometimes a couple of nights a week.”

  “Hmm. Business trips every week. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t business at all. Maybe he had some honey on the side. Any wind of hanky-panky?”

  “Even though we barely ever saw them, I knew Kyle and Diane weren’t happy. It wasn’t that they fought. It was the silence between them. The lack of warmth. The avoidance of touching each other, except when they were in public, of course, and especially in front of the cameras.”

  “Americans like their politicians to be happily married, you see. Then, a girlfriend on the side is likely.”

  His case against Mitchell seemed to be growing, not that he cared if the man had a mistress. He was interested in Mitchell’s darker pursuits. The illegal ones.

  And to get the proof, he was going to have to convince Elise they had the same goals. Which to some extent they did, since he was certain she would want to see the real murderer tried and convicted.

  Then her name would be cleared and she would be free to stick around, which made him fantasize about his being there for her when she made a new life with her son.

  Who the hell was he kidding?

  And why was he letting a personal life he didn’t even have distract him?

  “So Mitchell didn’t have a loving relationship with his wife,” Logan said, forcing his mind back on track. “What about his brother?”

  “Brian? They were typical brothers. Typical bonding. And typical sibling rivalry.”

  Enough rivalry to give Mitchell motive to kill his brother? Logan wondered. “Did that extend to Brian’s agreeing to run for office?”

  “Brian thought that Kyle felt threatened. I really didn’t know him. Things always came easier to Brian. He really was the Mitchell ‘Golden Boy.’” Elise fell silent for a moment, then said, “You suspect him? Kyle? Why?”

  “The sibling rivalry thing goes to motive more than you might imagine.” Even he couldn’t believe how many violent crimes he’d investigated that had been committed by one family member on another, so eight years in the force had seared that fact into him. “Mitchell was being attacked on all fronts. In addition to the political arena, there was the matter of their parents’ estate being given to the younger son.”

  “You’re right, that was a favoritism issue for him, but he didn’t really want to live at Mitchell House. That was Diane’s problem. She’s the one who felt slighted.”

  “How so? You mean for her husband?”

  “No. Diane can’t have children and I had Eric—and Minna made it very clear that she wanted the estate to stay in the family.”

  “And so you really believe wanting a particular house would be enough to kill over?”

  “I don’t know!” Elise snapped. “I thought you said you believed that I was innocent!”

  “Hey, I’m on your side. That doesn’t necessarily mean I believe Diane is our bad guy.”

  “Our bad guy?”

  “A figure of speech. Consider it a generic response.”

  He felt the level of adrenaline in the car slack off at the reassurance.

  “All right,” she conceded. “I admit that I hadn’t really considered anyone else as the murderer. Diane just seemed so obvious.”

  “Maybe the reason she doesn’t do it for me as a suspect,” Logan muttered, turning the car into the driveway.

  Or maybe it was simply that he wanted Kyle Mitchell to be the Cain to his brother’s Abel.

  That would wrap up his private investigation of the politician and Ginny’s death with a nice big red ribbon.

  LOGAN THOUGHT SHE WAS INNOCENT, or so he’d said, and Elise wanted to believe him. His cop side sure had shown itself loud and clear during the interrogation on the ride home, but she wanted to be sure that all those questions he’d had about Mitchell and Diane were to her benefit.

  They left the car in the drive, walked around to the front and let themselves in that door to get the newspaper and the “mail”—advertisements that hadn’t stopped coming despite Miss Henrietta’s death.

  Elise took two steps before nearly sliding her way across the foyer. Glancing down, she noted an envelope that must have been pushed under the door.

  “What’s this?” Elise stooped to pick it up. The front was blank. “Not addressed to anyone.”

  “So open it and satisfy your curiosity.”

  The flap slid open easily, and she puffed a breath into the envelop
e to expand it and peered down inside.

  “Looks like a newspaper clipping.”

  The moment she removed it, her pulse began to thrum. The sheet was old and yellowed, and crackled as she unfolded it and stared at the front page of the local Herald. Stared at a photo of herself, hands cuffed behind her back.

  The significance horrified her.

  Holding back a sob, she let the page drop from her fingers. “Someone knows,” she whispered. “Someone recognized me.”

  Logan swept up the piece and scanned it. “It’s all right.”

  She shook her head. “Someone knows.” She didn’t want to say the word murderer, but that’s what she was thinking. Her head grew light with the thought. “Dear God, I can’t go back to prison! And what about my son—!”

  “Whoa, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  Perhaps, but that didn’t stop her from buying into the lose-lose scenario. Her throat closed up and her eyes stung, and she was finding it hard to catch her breath. A harsh choking sound issued from her throat, and before she knew what he was about, Logan had pulled her into his arms.

  “Hey, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not! You don’t understand. This isn’t personal for you.”

  “Shh.”

  He pulled her closer, stroked her hair, made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

  “I would bet anything that old Bob left that clipping for me as a point of information,” he told her. “Remember we were talking about the murder this morning. He probably figured I would be interested in the details.”

  Elise wanted to believe it. And encircled as she was by Logan’s strong, comforting arms, she almost could.

  “But why would he keep this?” she demanded, unable to let go of the paranoia. “It’s morbid.”

  “Brian was, after all, Bob’s neighbor. His seeing that car invested him in the case. And he’s a lawyer, remember. He probably followed the trial all the way to the finish.”

  “But it isn’t finished. Maybe it never will be.”

  A truth that slashed at her insides. Elise trembled with the uncertainty…with the anger…with the need for justice.

  As if he understood that, Logan continued to hold her, to be her support system, and for once she didn’t care why. She simply wanted him to keep on, wanted to feel his arms around her, to hear the increasing beat of his heart.