Fake I.D. Wife

by Patricia Rosemoor

  A long, luxurious shower refreshed Elise and gave her the impetus to face Logan and demand to know what he was about. Dressing, she glanced out the window again. The sun had set, so the area was cast in deepening shadow, but even so, she spotted Logan.

  Where the heck was he going? Elise wondered, noting that he was casually carrying what looked to her like a small dark case. She watched him stroll downhill toward the lake. At the last minute, he veered toward the boathouse next door.

  She glanced at Mitchell House, but no one seemed to be home. The family was still out. But how much longer? Eric was with Diane and Kyle and it was already approaching his bedtime. Surely they would be home soon.

  Logan had disappeared. She waited for several minutes, and when he didn’t come back into view, she made up her mind to go after him.

  But by the time she got down to the shoreline, he was nowhere to be seen.

  That’s when she realized he must have found the key to the boathouse door. Sure enough, the door opened easily…but no Logan inside. Her heart thudded as it occurred to her that he had found the tunnel—no doubt the way he’d gotten in and out of the house the night before.

  Sliding open the door, she followed, thankful she’d brought her flashlight along.

  The tunnel had always spooked her a little, and three years in prison hadn’t changed that. Not normally claustrophobic, she found being under the earth disconcerting. Like being buried alive. A scurrying sound ahead made her hurry. Whether a rat or a squirrel dashed away from her didn’t matter—they were both rodents, and at the moment, neither was a welcome companion.

  Sighting the door into the house was a welcome relief. The passageway actually led her into the basement, where night-lights guided her to the stairs. She clicked off her flashlight and entered the house, dark but for a single lit lamp in the entryway and another at the kitchen opposite.

  No sound clued her into Logan’s whereabouts, but she guessed he would be in Kyle’s study.

  She opened the door to a darkened room, but before she could make up her mind what to do, an arm wrapped around her neck and she was dragged inside. She fought the hold, but to no avail. Then a light flashed in her face.

  “Elise! What the hell!” Logan let go of her immediately. “I thought you were Carol or Diane.”

  “What did you think you were going to do to whoever it was? Break her neck?”

  “No, of course not. I acted on instinct.”

  Not an answer, she realized.

  “What are you doing? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over here? Why didn’t you tell me you knew about the tunnel? And how did you, anyway?”

  “I’m setting up some recording devices,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to put you at risk. And why didn’t you tell me about the tunnel?”

  He turned on the room light, and she saw his bag of tricks on the desk.

  She avoided his question with another of her own. “You think Kyle will confess to murder so you can get it on tape?”

  “I think Mitchell is probably not as cautious a man as he thinks he is. He’ll make a mistake.”

  Making her wonder exactly what his plan might be. What information did he hope to get?

  “You mean something about those deposits in the Caymans?”

  “Possibly.”

  Again, a nonanswer. “And that would hold up in court?”

  “Hopefully it will give me enough information to nail him.”

  Unsure whether she wanted to know more, Elise shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’d better get working before I run out of time,” Logan said. He moved to his bag and pulled out a small transmitter, which he secured under the desk. “This baby is voice-activated. It picks up voices from forty feet and it’ll transmit a thousand. The recorders are back at the house.”

  After quickly wiring the office for sound, Logan did the same with the living room. That transmitter he set atop a curio cabinet. Elise stood by and watched him work, admiring his expertise, wanting in the worst way to question him about it…but wishing he would volunteer the information.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “You can get me through the maze of rooms up there.”

  “You want to wire the bedrooms?”

  “Minna’s, yes. And Mitchell’s. That’s all the equipment I have.”

  Anxious at the thought of a stranger listening to a couple’s pillow talk, Elise told herself that if it somehow nailed Brian’s killer, scruples be damned.

  She indicated Minna’s quarters and the master suite the couple was using, then said she would be down the hall. She was drawn to the other master suite, which she had avoided the day before—the rooms she’d shared with Brian.

  Inside, she turned on a light and closed the door. She just needed a moment alone.

  Not much had been changed. The bedding, of course. New spread, new drapes. And all of her things had been removed as if she had never existed. But Brian’s things were still there, laid out for him as if he might return at any time. The dresser was lined with framed photographs of Brian from the time he was a child through his funeral.

  She shuddered. Someone—Minna?—had made the suite into a shrine.

  Minna had never kept her preference for Brian over Kyle secret, but this was a bit much. Elise certainly hoped the matriarch didn’t drag Eric in here to worship at the altar of death with her.

  Not that she didn’t want Eric to know about his father. She would tell him about Brian, keep his memory alive, but she wanted to do it in a more healthy manner, for both their sakes.

  Logan called out, “Elise, where are you?”

  She went to the door. “Here.”

  “I’m done.”

  “I’m not. Go on without me.”

  Logan’s gaze soared over her shoulder to the photographs. His expression went blank and he nodded.

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “It’s not necessary. Just go home.”

  “Don’t be too long,” he said, his voice stiff.

  A non-agreement if she’d ever heard one. Logan had a way of getting around things he didn’t want to talk about. She wasn’t staying in the rooms she’d once shared with Brian for herself, but for her son. Eric deserved some memento, something he could hold in his hand and look at, that would remind him of his father. The photographs were tempting, but should one disappear, she was certain Minna would notice. Besides, her own mother had photographs of them all, starting with her engagement party.

  Elise thought of an appropriate talisman and only hoped it would still be in Brian’s treasure chest, as he’d liked to call the carved wooden box his father had brought him from a trip to the Far East. She opened the middle chest drawer and found the box in its place. Inside, various souvenirs were laid out on the velvet interior, as if for inspection.

  She plucked the book-shaped pin that had been Brian’s keepsake for helping to start a literacy program. Considering Eric’s love of books—or at least one book in particular—she thought this was the perfect reminder of the man he would never know.

  She slipped the pin into her pants pocket.

  The sound of a car pulling in the drive startled her into shoving the box back into the drawer and turning off the room light.

  Praying no one had seen, she slipped into the hall and down the stairs. The scratch of a key at the lock made her hurry. Where the hell was Logan? Though he hadn’t agreed to go, he must have taken her at her word. She stumbled and got only halfway to the basement entrance before the front door swung open. Pulse speeding up, she froze where she stood and tried to disappear into the shadows.

  Trapped!

  “This light shouldn’t be on,” Kyle said.

  Elise winced. Why hadn’t Logan turned off the light in the living room? Because of her, of course, because she had insisted on staying upstairs without him. All her fault.

  Diane said, “So someone left a light on, big deal.”

  “No, I’m sure it was off when we left,” Kyle insi
sted.

  Elise’s heart began to thunder. If she dared take another step toward the basement door, she would come within sight of them.

  “Carol’s probably home,” Diane said.

  “You know she never comes home this early when she goes off with that man.”

  “Then, your mother—”

  “Isn’t due back for another hour.”

  Eric asked, “Aunt Diane, can I have milk and cookies?”

  “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

  “Pleeease.”

  “You already had your cookies with Tracy,” Diane said, her tone now irritated.

  “I’m going to look around,” Kyle told her. “Make sure we’ve had no intruders.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Come on, Eric, let’s go upstairs.”

  What to do?

  Not about to stand there and let Kyle discover her, Elise slipped along the wall and into the nearest hiding place—the powder room. The door had been open a crack and so made no noise. She left it that way and listened to Kyle make his way around the house, checking the garden door, side door, windows.

  The phone rang twice. Diane must have answered it, because Elise heard Kyle coming down the hallway. The door now opening must be the one to the basement. It closed again with a loud click.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  Holding her breath, her pulse fluttering madly, Elise flattened herself against the wall.

  The door swung open toward her….

  “Kyle, phone call,” Diane called.

  “All right. I’ll take it in the study.”

  Kyle rushed off, leaving Elise weak-kneed and fighting a sickening dizziness.

  No time for this nonsense, she told herself, taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

  Kyle’s voice trailed out from his office, but Elise couldn’t make out his words. Knowing her margin for escape without discovery was narrow, she sneaked back out of the powder room and silently glided down the hallway toward the basement.

  Elise’s hand trembled as she opened the door a crack and realized she no longer heard Kyle’s voice. She ducked through the opening even as her brother-in-law left his study. Not daring to go down the stairs lest the sound give her away, she waited, listening.

  For a moment she couldn’t place Kyle—he could be right on the other side of the door for all she knew. Elise swallowed hard and forced herself to concentrate. Finally, she heard him, his footsteps moving away from her.

  Elise counted to ten and felt for the rail, then took one careful step at a time into the darkness of the basement. Only when she touched bottom did she snap on her flashlight so she could see her way to the tunnel.

  The walk to the boathouse was the longest she’d ever taken.

  Once there, she figured she was home free. Even though it was now dark and the chances of anyone seeing her coming from around the boathouse were slim, she wasn’t taking any chances. She would go down toward the pier and climb over the rocks that would set her on the Parkinson beach. Coming up from that area wouldn’t seem so suspicious, should anyone notice.

  But when she turned toward the pier, she faced a strange boat—the one Rafe Otera had been piloting. A moment’s wait revealed no Rafe, however. No Carol. All was still. When had they docked and where the hell were they?

  On instinct, she moved fast, keeping to the shadows. She switched directions from her original path that would have taken her past Otera’s docked boat, toward the ravine north of Mitchell House.

  The ravine that had possibly hidden a murderer’s vehicle.

  Quickly, she picked her way down the woody incline, hanging on to trees where she could, slipping and sliding where the earth gave. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that she wondered if she imagined the stir of brush coming from behind her.

  Footsteps?

  Friend or foe?

  She didn’t dare wait to find out, but before she could run, she misstepped and her foot caught on a root.

  Arms flailing, failing to get her balance, Elise pitched forward, headfirst over the bluff.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The tide rolled in, the water’s icy fingers engulfing Logan’s shoes and feet as he splashed his way along the strip of beach to where Elise lay sprawled, facedown.

  “Elise, are you all right?” he called out as water washed over her too-still body.

  Her answering groan kick-started his heart. From a distance, he’d seen her tumble off the bluff, luckily only a dozen feet or so above the beach at this point. Still, he feared she was hurt. By the time he got to her, she was stirring, trying to push herself up into a sitting position.

  “Careful,” he said, hunkering down next to her. “You could have broken something.”

  He could see she was testing her limbs, one at a time.

  “Everything’s intact,” she said with another groan that made him wince. “I’ll survive.”

  “Good. But let’s not take any chances. I’ll help you up.”

  Logan slid an arm around her back and rose, lifting Elise to her feet at the same time. Rather than seeming concerned about herself, she was craning upward.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “What happened?”

  “Someone was following me.”

  The skin along his spine crawled. “Who?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see anything, but I felt…heard…” Seeming confused, she turned to face him. “Where were you?”

  For a moment, Logan thought she might be accusing him, but the way she stayed so close to the shelter of his body, she couldn’t suspect him of anything. Moonlight illuminated her face, and he could see that the skin around her eyes and mouth was tight, indicating she was in pain.

  “I didn’t see anything, either, Elise, just you tumbling over the bluff. I thought it was an accident.”

  She shuddered violently and tucked her chin to her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and gently rubbed her back as he might to soothe a frightened child. The physical assurance made her relax against him.

  But Logan wasn’t in the least relaxed. His gaze continually pierced the darkness above, searching for some predator. If he got his hands on the bastard who’d hurt her…

  “When I got out of the boathouse,” he said, “I heard a car pull into the drive. I wanted to stick around in case you needed me. I was getting anxious, trying to think of an excuse to go up to the house and ring the doorbell…and then I heard a boat heading in. I figured it was Carol with Otera, so I dropped down to the beach and found a place to hide. And the next thing I knew I spotted you heading for the ravine.”

  “I was hoping to avoid being seen, as well.”

  Logan stroked her hair. “Then I jogged along the shoreline, thinking to head you off.”

  “But I headed you off, instead.”

  “In a very dramatic fashion.”

  “Someone knows.” Her whisper splashed eerily against the wash of the tide.

  This time, Logan didn’t answer. Didn’t try to rationalize away her fears. He might not have seen whoever followed her, but if she said someone had, then he believed her. The fact reshuffled the deck and put them in a whole new game.

  “Let’s get back to the house.”

  Though he pressed Elise to move, never for a moment did he dislodge his arm, his support. She seemed to need it, require it emotionally as much as physically. Though she walked without complaint, she was taking it slowly and carefully and she was limping, if only a little. A survivor of too many spills to count in his previous professional life, Logan knew that without the proper attention, she would be stiff in the morning.

  Not good—not for the plan, not for her continued safety.

  They took the long way around, strolling down the beach a way, climbing up a gentle slope through the ravine. Roaming the area, looking out for potential trouble, Logan wanted in the worst way to search for footprints, to find some clue to the aggressor’s identity.

  To prove that Kyle Mitchell was at it again.

  Bu
t Elise needed him, and his private investigation would have to wait until daybreak. She had to be his focus now.

  As they walked along Sheridan Road and passed the coach house, he noted all four family cars—Jaguar, BMW, Mercedes and MG—parked on the drive. So he kept his eye on Mitchell House itself, especially on the multitude of windows, but he didn’t catch anyone watching them. Perhaps the bastard who’d frightened Elise was satisfied with this night’s work.

  When he finally let go of her, he asked, “How are you doing?”

  “Bruised and battered and getting stiff…but I’ll live.”

  Logan clenched his jaw. He would see to it. “Ice would help the bruises, a hot shower the stiffness. How about I make up an ice pack while you hit the shower.”

  “Deal.”

  As he watched her limp up the stairs, more than a shower and ice pack came to mind. He wanted to hold her, make love to her, keep her in his arms all night. But that would have to wait.

  After ridding himself of his squishy wet shoes and socks, he checked all the doors and windows to make certain they were locked. Then, dutifully, he fetched a sealable plastic bag and filled it with ice cubes. By the time he started for the stairs, the pipes were protesting. Elise was in the shower.

  He tried not to think of her nude and soapy, but that was like asking a hungry man not to think about food. Standing outside her door, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Then he stepped inside a room more feminine than the one he occupied. This smelled like a woman’s room, and the light scent stirred him. He saw that she’d cut some flowers from the garden and had set the bouquet on the nightstand next to the bed. He set down the ice pack next to it and turned down her covers, imagining he could smell her personal scent on the linens.

  The water stopped and he stood there like a fool, listening. What did he expect? To hear the towel slide over her as it absorbed the beads of water from her body?

  His groin tightened and he told himself to get the hell out, but he was still standing there when the bathroom door opened to reveal her wrapped in nothing but a towel.