Take it easy, she told herself. Keep your head.
The driver handed her bags over to the bell captain as Greer walked across the quiet, elegant lobby to the registration desk. She was met by a friendly, attractive young man with dark skin and black hair.
He took her name and began to process her registration, taking a credit card and clacking names and numbers into the hotel computer.
Among the small talk, Greer had to ask, “An unmarked Town Car?”
The young man nodded, his name tag reading Carlo. “For just one guest, we send the car. It wasn’t uncomfortable, I hope.”
“No, it was … it was fine.”
Carlo stepped into a small room to the side of the reception desk, then returned with several items, which he set down on the counter between them. “Room six-twenty. Here is your room key, the Wi-Fi information, a coupon for a free drink at the executive lounge …” With the three cards, he put down a piece of paper folded in the middle. “And a personal note.”
Greer took the cards and opened up the note, written in a familiar hand:
Hi, Greer:
Welcome to Ecuador. Hope you had a good trip. I’m tied up on that ongoing case tonight, but we’ll meet tomorrow. Get some rest … you’ll need it.
Sean
She was seen up to the room, nicely appointed and spacious and overlooking the city lights of Quito. She tipped the bellboy and looked around then stepped to the window to look out over the city.
Despite the tranquility of the calming view, with distant lights flickering, a vast dark sky above, and volcanic mountains in every direction, Greer was unsettled. She wasn’t there for a holiday, and Sean still hadn’t shared the real reason for the trip. She knew it had something to do with Spencer’s true killers, the men behind the shooter. They were out there somewhere, and they could easily know things about her when she knew nothing of them.
They could be watching me right now, she realized, glancing around. This room could have been prepped, bugged, or …
But her trip in from the airport reminded her not to jump to too many conclusions.
Sean’s right, she thought, I’ve been doing this for too long. I’m obsessed with it. I’m glad we’re finally going to learn what we need to know, but I have to keep my head, have to stay in control.
Even so, she couldn’t look out over that city view without a chill running up her spine. There was an ominous pall over the city, unknown to the denizens scurrying under it. But Greer could see it. She couldn’t miss it.
Chapter Eight
Greer woke up after a long sleep. She took a refreshing shower, the hot water coursing over her body, the soapy suds cleansing and revitalizing. She dried her hair and checked herself out in the mirror.
Not bad, she had to admit, not bad at all. All those years in the gym are payin’ off.
She put on some tight-fitting jeans and a funky blouse, touched it off with some earrings and just a bit of makeup—the less, the better—before checking the lobby for something from Sean. Carlo was still working the desk, nearing the end of his night shift, but he had no word for her.
A flatscreen was hanging in the hotel bar, a news broadcast catching her attention as she passed. Ecuadorian president Lenín Boltaire Moreno Garcés smiled and waved to crowds from his wheelchair.
But the broadcast was in Spanish, leaving Greer out of the loop. “What’s going on?” she asked the bartender.
“Our president, Moreno, he’ll be making a speech here in Quito soon.”
“Really? What about?”
The young man shrugged. “There is unrest about new road tolls and gas taxes. There are protests in the streets!”
“Wow, really? I didn’t see any coming in.”
He shrugged again. “There are a lot of streets in Quito, senorita.”
That not only made sense, but it also would have an effect on what Greer would do next. “Is it safe to go outside?”
Young and handsome, he smiled. “You should be fine.”
Greer nodded and stepped away from the bar, across the lobby, and out through the double doors. She passed the doorman and continued out onto the street. Greer sighed and glanced around, deciding to take a stroll around the area and explore her surroundings.
Quito looked a lot different during the day. Volcanic mountains lined the city to the east and west, and sharp and stunning inclines boasted grass and bushes and little houses, some the centers of family farms which could have been there for centuries.
The traffic was thick on the street, buses belching out clouds of black smoke at the many pedestrians—well-dressed professionals, old women sitting at their kiosks, a guy playing they rhythm guitar part of Hotel California on an electric guitar through a little amp sitting next to him.
There was a big park just across the street from the hotel, where food vendors peddled open-faced grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken shawarmas.
Greer strolled along the aisles of vendors. Many sold hats and jackets and dresses, each vendor trying to pull her into a sale with a greeting in Spanish, which she couldn’t understand. But it was easy enough to shake her head with a friendly smile. She walked past the booths of little Spanish guitars, painted with sunsets and mountainous landscapes, to the line of artists selling their own work. One man sat behind a collection of little statues made from twisted metal wire—horsemen, little Eiffel Towers, windmills, tiny silver trees. He stood working on another little creation while potential customers walked by, enjoying his artistic performance as much as the works he was trying to sell.
By far the most common type of artwork was painting, many of the pieces featuring sunsets and sunrises in browns and oranges and reds, some in blues and whites. A lot of old men and women were represented as well, huddled together in the flat cubist style that was a favorite of the region. A lot of the pictures were comprised of two canvases or even three, with one small canvas conjoining the two larger canvases behind it, one image stretched out over the three.
Greer walked back onto the streets, to the area called La Mariscal, or the nightlife district. It was cluttered with restaurants and cafes and bars, many serving Italian fare or seafood. There were discos everywhere, quiet during the day. But the area was most notable for the diversity of the architecture. Modern glass and steel buildings stood next to Byzantine temples, and across the street from medieval gothic churches, spires and statues brought Notre Dame to mind.
It was an interesting city, to be sure, and she looked forward to seeing more of it. But she was more anxious to hear from Sean and find out what the hell was going on and why she was there to begin with.
Greer glanced around, noticing that a few people seemed to be looking at her from various street corners and patio cafes—young men with open shirts, decrepit old women, fat and graying old men. All their eyes seemed to be locked on her.
Don’t get carried away, Greer told herself. There aren’t many redheads around here. I’m sure it’s just that. Hey, I should worry when they stop looking. But as she made her way back to the hotel, she felt like they were still staring, tracing her movements.
Where the hell is Sean? Greer thought, and her imagination began to drift to terrible possibilities, that he’d drawn her to Ecuador for some higher purpose, something she still had no idea about. Why is he being so cagey? she wondered. Why not just tell me what this is all about—unless there’s some reason for me not to know. And now that I’m here, in a foreign country where I know absolutely nobody, what’s he got in store for me?
A chill ran up her spine. Could he have been involved in the shooting in the first place? Could they have found him and corrupted him, using him to draw me into a trap?
It was possible, but it felt convoluted.
He could have killed me back in New York or Colorado. Why this complicated charade? Unless there really is something to report … something big?
Her smartphone rang in her purse, and she pulled it out and swiped the screen before raising it to her e
ar. “Sean.”
“Greer, welcome to Quito.”
“Yeah, thanks. Where are you?”
“Up in my room, nine-seventeen. Come on up.”
The call ended, and Greer crossed to the elevators. On the way up, lighted numbers crawled across the top of the car.
One … two …
Could this be a mistake? I mean, just because he finally contacted me, it doesn’t mean he’s not somehow working against me.
Four … five …
It was too easy to imagine stepping into the room and being ambushed, garroted from behind, or held down on the bed and smothered with a pillow.
Seven … eight …
Call him back, the voice in her head said. Tell him to come to my room instead. At least I’ll be able to control the situation—a bit better, anyway.
Nine.
The bell rang, and the doors slid open in front of her. Greer took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall, every step taking her closer to possible disaster. She walked down the quiet hall. Nothing out of the ordinary. But of course, there wouldn’t be. Her first clue that she’d been duped and lured into a trap would come too late.
She stopped at the door and turned to listen, hearing nothing. She knocked, her legs flinching in an instinctive bid to retreat. But she stood her ground as the hotel door opened in front of her. Sean stood there, smiling and familiar, a welcoming sight as he stepped back to let her enter.
Greer walked in, glancing around at the roomy and well-appointed hotel room, very much like her own. No other men were visible, and the only conceivable hiding place was the small clothes closet. The door was opened a bit, and the few shirts and pants hanging from the rod told her she didn't have anything to worry about there.
“Glad you see you again,” Sean said. “Thank you for coming.”
But Greer knew her safety wasn’t assured, that it never could be until they got to the bottom of who shot her husband. She also knew that Sean could yet be a part of this final turn. Other men could still come into the room, and she’d be cornered. Even Sean could attack her with a rag soaked in chloroform or just draw a gun muzzled by a silencer and pick her off at point-blank range.
“All right,” she said, “do you mind telling me what’s going on? And where you’ve been?”
“I was wrapping up the case that brought me here, the deadbeat from Peru. Chased him up here and finally bagged and tagged him and sent him to the authorities back home.”
It made sense enough, she thought, already feeling a bit ridiculous about her theories of Sean’s involvement. But she also knew that everything was at stake and she had to be cautious. One mistake could cost her life.
“Okay,” she said, “then what the hell did I come all this way for? Some kind of half-assed seduction?”
“No, nothing like that.” He pulled out his camera and started swiping the screen. “I want you to brace yourself, okay?”
His words made her stomach twist with nervous anticipation. “Can’t you just tell me?”
Sean was looking at the screen when he stopped and handed the phone to her. Greer took the phone and looked at the screen. Goosebumps rose on the backs of her arms. She gasped, and her heart skipped a beat.
The screen showed Spencer Lange, or an identical stranger, a doppelganger. He looked older than when she’d last seen him, but not much. She swiped to view a few more shots of the man. He was outdoors, mismatched urban architecture behind him.
“What is this?”
“I was tracking the deadbeat here in Quito, spotted this guy by sheer happenstance. He didn’t know me from Adam, so I took a few snaps. It’s your husband, isn’t it?”
“Well … it … it can’t be. I saw my husband get killed, Sean. That’s how I knew the shooter’s face. You know that. This guy … he’s … it’s gotta be a coincidence.”
“Take a closer look.”
Greer touched the screen with the tips of her thumb and index finger, spreading them to increase the size of the image. She scanned the pictures again, a chill running through her veins. If she didn’t know better, she would think it was Spencer Lange. The eyes, the mouth, that distant gaze—if it wasn’t her late husband, the resemblance was beyond uncanny.
“Well … I don’t know what to say. It does look just like him, but it can’t be. Could it be a twin brother or something?”
Sean shrugged. “You married the guy. He never mentioned a brother, a twin brother? His parents never mentioned it?”
“Maybe they’re estranged. That happens, a black sheep kind thing, a family fight nobody wants to talk about.”
He nodded and seemed to give it some thought. “I suppose it’s possible, but it’s a long shot, don’t you think? And really, if there’s some lost twin with family secrets, then he’d be a prime suspect as the man behind the shooting.”
Under those circumstances, Sean’s theory made sense. But there had never been a mention of a twin brother in all her memory of her time with the Langes. But she had to remind herself, I didn’t exactly ask if there was some hated twin that nobody ever talked about. It did seem far-fetched, but Greer had to search her imagination for an alternative explanation.
“It’s … I don’t know what to say. It seems … unlikely.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But don’t you want to know for sure?”
That didn’t require any thought at all. “Of course I do, but … how?”
Chapter Nine
Sean stood up and walked to the window, surveying the city. “He’s out there somewhere, at least I think he still is. I haven’t been able to track him to where he lives, but I know it’s close—he frequents the same places.”
“Then why couldn’t you follow him back to where he lives?”
“If he knows I’m following, he’ll bolt and we’ll lose him. Have to be discreet.”
“All right,” Greer said, thinking it through. “So, what do we do?”
“We’ll have to stake him out a while, keep in touch via FaceTime.” Greer nodded. “What matters is that you put eyes on the guy, watch the way he moves. Even twins don’t move the same way, and you were married to Spencer, after all.”
“He’s probably just some guy who looks just like him, that’s all.”
“Then you’ll know that too. Either way, we’ll know.” Their strategy was clear and sound, and Greer was ready to get to work. “But first,” he went on, “we’ve gotta change your look.”
“And why’s that?”
“Not that I don’t love the red hair, but if this guy is connected to your husband, he could know what you look like from online pics or any number of other sources. Just because Spencer didn’t mention him doesn’t mean he’s not aware of you. And that red hair, hot as it is, sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“I’ll wear a hat or a shawl and some sunglasses.”
Sean shook his head. “If he’s involved with shooting your husband, and he spots you, then you’re marked for death. He might run, or he might just turn on you. And he may not be acting alone.” Greer’s skin tingled with nervousness as Sean’s caution seemed more and more reasonable.
“I could cut it short, maybe dye it black.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Sean said. “You stay here, and I’ll go down and buy a few things. Need anything else?”
Greer wasn’t even sure how to answer. There was so much that she needed, but none of it could be delivered there and then. They were still a good distance away from what she needed.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He nodded and left her alone in the room. Greer stood at the window, looking out over the city with a new perspective.
Could it be that Spencer has a twin brother? It’s possible. He does look exactly like him, and that would make him a good candidate for the shooting. Is there some inheritance I don’t know about? Not that the Langes live like kings out in Camelback, Arizona. But they could have more money than they let on, and who knows how much that could be?
&nb
sp; The theory seemed reasonable, and it quickly led Greer to a few other logical conclusions.
He could have killed Spencer to assume his identity, but surely he’d never fool either of his own parents! But … if they died too, that would leave this errant twin brother to take the entire fortune, however much that is.
Over the course of her investigation, Greer had learned that money and familial distress were two of the most common motives for murder—and this man would have both.
Her blood felt like it was moving a bit faster in her veins. She felt a new pulse and a renewed sense of purpose.
If that’s the case, she reasoned, wouldn’t he have killed Martin and Margaret Lange by now? Unless … maybe it’s a risk, maybe he’s just waiting for them to die, staying out of sight in Ecuador and other faraway places. But his luck ran out with a random spotting. The odds are incredible, but things like that do happen, probably more than I realize. Obviously, there’s a lot more going on than I understand, on just about every level.
That realization bought Greer back to her recent theories and concerns. Now they didn’t seem so far-fetched, but that was only more cause to worry.
What if I’m still right about Sean? If this brother is really here, is it possible that he and Sean are working together? If Sean were in on half the profits, he’d have good reason to want to sell me out. He might have romantic reasons to do that too. Hell hath no fury, after all.
Greer stood there, knowing that the door could still fly open, ambushers pouring in to overpower her. She turned to approach the door and close the lock, a metal loop fixed to the jamb that slid over a bar fixed to the door.
It was something, but Greer knew that if Sean really was in league with her husband’s killer, brother, or look-alike or whoever, he’d be in a position to take her out in any number of ways. The thought of those white slavery rings she’d read about came back to her, and she had to warn herself to be wary.
This could all be a ruse to get me in the right place at the right time, and in an instant, I’m in the back of some van, never to be seen again.
Dead to You Page 4