by Linda Warren
As she waited in traffic, she dreaded the coming confrontation with her grandmother. She also dreaded whatever else she might learn. Gran had done her a terrible injustice and she had to find out why. But most of all, Serena wanted to see her sister, talk to her, hear her story.
Why not? she asked herself. She knew where she worked and maybe, just maybe, when the manager saw that they were obviously sisters, he might tell her how to find Sarah. Yes, she’d do it. At this time of day the club should be empty and she’d have a good chance of talking to the manager. And Sarah.
As she drove toward the club, she wondered if she should call Ethan. No, she had to do this on her own.
She hoped he’d understand.
CHAPTER TEN
IT DIDN’T TAKE Ethan long to explain the situation to Daniel. He also told him about Molly and Boyd.
“Damn, Ethan, your sister’s involved with him?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘involved.’ He just has her snowed at the moment.”
“He’s good at that.” Daniel leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got my ass in a sling on this. My superiors are talking about pulling me off the case. Too many man-hours, too much money, not enough results. Although they’ve given me more time since a cop’s life is on the line… I thought if I could just find the redhead, it might give me a much-needed clue. That raid was another dead end. They’ve got her well hidden. So I came back here last night and put the screws to my computer expert. This is what he found.” Daniel picked up a folder and placed it in front of Ethan. “Does anything jump out at you?”
Ethan opened the file. Inside was a list of corporations and their directors. The corporations were owners of a lot of strip clubs and adult video stores.
“Look at the director’s name at the top.”
Joseph Rudolph Boydardi. Ethan glanced up. “Rudy Boyd. He shortened his name.”
“Yeah, and changed it around. Joseph Rudolph is a director of one company, as is J. R. Boydar and Rudolph Dardi, but they’re the same person—alias Rudy Boyd, and no telling how many others.”
“Then Boyd owns all these strip clubs?”
Daniel pointed to a name on the paper. “Yes, and he owns Teasers.”
“Good God.”
“My guess is that Greg found out he owned these clubs, and Boyd silenced him. I just have to prove it. The redhead—Sarah Welch—is my only hope.”
“Why does Boyd want to keep this a secret?”
“Because he’s Mr. Upstanding Citizen. He’s big with the mayor and the city council and known for his generosity. I know he’s pushing drugs through these clubs, because I’ve busted too many small-time pushers who say that’s where they get their supply, but no one will testify against Boyd. Everyone’s frightened of him. They keep saying they don’t know who he is. Now I can connect him to the clubs—and, I hope, a whole lot more.”
Ethan closed the folder. “The first step is still to find Sarah Welch.”
“Yeah.” Daniel yanked up the phone and barked out a few orders, then turned back to Ethan. “Jimmy, my computer guy, will have everything we need in a few minutes.” He fingered the file. “I have to do this, Ethan, before they pull the plug. I have to find Greg. He was a good cop. He just got mixed up with the wrong woman.”
“I think Sarah Welch might be a victim, too.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t seem like a typical stripper. She’s afraid. I could see it in her eyes. And there’s a group of men guarding her. That doesn’t add up.”
Before Daniel could say anything, a young man who couldn’t be more than twenty walked up and brought Daniel some papers. “Thanks, Jimmy, and keep digging up whatever you can on Boyd. Time’s running out.”
“You got it,” Jimmy said, and ambled away.
Daniel glanced through the papers and handed them to Ethan. “There’s everything you want to know about Sarah Welch, but it doesn’t tell us why she’s stripping at Teasers.”
Ethan read the report. She didn’t have a record—not even a traffic ticket. But everything else, from her birth to her schooldays in Oklahoma and Arizona to college attendance, was listed. She attended Southern Methodist University, where she obtained a psychology degree. She had several jobs as a waitress, obviously paying her own way through college, since it took her several years. She was now working on her masters. Celia Welch was listed as next of kin, and her address was noted. Sarah had the same address.
What Ethan had suspected was true—different grandparents had raised Serena and Sarah. Why? That still had to be answered. He wondered if Serena was talking to her grandmother yet. Maybe she already knew the answer.
Ethan slowly laid the papers down. “This is a profile of a hardworking young woman.”
“Doesn’t fit what we know about her, does it.”
“No,” Ethan agreed. “Let’s pay grandmother Welch a visit. She might be able to tell us where her granddaughter is.”
Daniel grabbed his jacket and spoke to the man who occupied the desk behind him. “Hey, Ron. Call me if anything happens.”
The man mumbled his assent, and they walked out to Daniel’s car. The Welch address was in a Dallas suburb less than thirty minutes from Fort Worth. Ethan shook his head at the irony of it—Serena and Sarah lived so close, yet they’d never met. Now they would.
Daniel was familiar with the area. Soon they turned down a street of compact brick houses all jammed together with small yards.
They stopped at the Welch address. “Let me do the talking,” Daniel said. “This is police business.”
“I never interfere with police business,” Ethan replied smugly.
“Yeah, right.” Daniel laughed.
They made their way to the front door. “How’s your hip?” Daniel asked.
For once Ethan didn’t feel his insides caving in when someone asked that question. Since last night, he had a whole new perspective on his hip—and on everything else—because of Serena. “Not troubling me too much,” Ethan answered, trying not to smile. “Thanks for asking.”
Daniel knocked loudly on the door.
“Who is it?” a woman’s voice called.
“Police,” Daniel yelled.
The door swung open immediately. A plump woman in her seventies stood there. Medium height, gray hair. A flowered housedress and slippers. “Is this about Sarah?”
“May we come in, please?” Daniel asked politely.
“Oh, yes, yes, where’re my manners.” She moved aside and they entered the main room of the house.
Ethan glanced around. Shabby furniture, worn carpet. Bric-a-brac cluttering every available space. There were parakeets in a cage by a window, and their chirping softened the room. He figured from the evidence around him that Celia Welch had a hard time making ends meet. His eyes froze on a couple of pictures on the wall. Red hair, blue eyes, same gorgeous skin as Serena, but it wasn’t Serena. It was her twin—Sarah.
Daniel pulled out his badge. “I’m Daniel Garrett with the Dallas Police Department and this is Ethan Ramsey, a private investigator. We’d like to speak with Sarah.”
Celia put her hands on her hips. “So would I!”
“She’s not here?”
“No, she moved in with that boyfriend of hers. I told her not to. She’s only known him a few months, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Stubborn, just like her mother. You can’t tell her a thing.”
“Her mother?” Ethan couldn’t help it. It just slipped out. The only sign that Daniel disapproved was the muscle working in his jaw.
Celia waved a hand. “Forget it. I don’t know why I said that. Jasmine’s dead, but Sarah reminds me so much of her with her finicky ways. Nothing’s ever good enough for her. She just had to go to college, even though I couldn’t afford it. She works as a waitress and goes to school part-time. She’s been going for years and she’s still not through. What good is a degree when you’re living on pennies? That’s what I tell her, but does she listen? No.”
“Is your husband here?”
Daniel asked.
“Good heavens, no. He died years ago. It’s just me and Sarah, and we’ve managed to survive. I’m a damn good waitress and Sarah learned that from me. Not something I wanted her to do, but as I said, you can’t tell her anything.”
Ethan got a glimpse into Sarah’s life and he knew where the hardness came from. Her life hadn’t been easy, whereas Serena’s had been storybook perfect—until now. How would each deal with what had been done to them?
“Mrs. Welch, we need to find Sarah. It’s very important,” Daniel said urgently.
“Find her boyfriend and you’ll find her.”
“What’s his name?”
“Greg something. She said she’d call and give me the address and phone number, but I haven’t heard from her.”
At the mention of Greg’s name, the muscle in Daniel’s jaw picked up speed, and Ethan knew Daniel was hoping his cop was alive.
Daniel removed a card from his pocket and passed it to her. “If she contacts you, call me immediately. As I said, it’s very important.”
Celia took the card. “What kind of trouble is she in?”
“We’re just looking for her boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Just call me,” Daniel answered.
“She is okay, isn’t she? We argue a lot because we’re so different, but she’s all I have and I love her.”
No, you have another granddaughter, Mrs. Welch, and you know it. How can you forget about her?
“If I find out anything, ma’am, I’ll get in touch.”
“Oh, please do that. I’ll worry until I hear something.”
“Thanks for your help,” Daniel said as they left.
Outside, he remarked, “For a moment there, I thought you were gonna mention the other twin.”
“I almost did. I can’t understand how she can just wipe another granddaughter from her mind—a blood granddaughter.”
“Beats me, but I got other things to worry about. Damn, another dead end.” Daniel hit the top of the car with his fist. “There were some women’s clothes in Greg’s apartment. I’ll have another look at them. The stripper has to be somewhere.”
“The best way to find her is to stake out the club.”
“Yeah.” Daniel glanced at Ethan over the top of the car. “I’ll have men on it tonight and I’ll also put a watch on Mrs. Welch. Just in case she’s not telling the truth.”
They got into the car. “I think Mrs. Welch knows as much as we do—nothing.”
“It’s so damn frustrating—and all the while, Boyd goes on with his illegal activities.”
“But not for long.” Ethan sighed. “Hopefully not for long.”
SERENA FOUND the strip club without a problem, but it was locked. The windows were all dark, so she couldn’t see through them. She ran to her car, noticing that everything was dead around here at this time of day. She drove as far as the next corner, took a right and came up a backstreet. There had to be a way into the club. Her heart started to race as she saw people coming and going through a rear entrance. A beer truck was backed in, obviously delivering beer. A cleaning-service van was parked to the side. She stopped behind the van and got out before she could change her mind. There were businesspeople here, so what could happen? She’d simply ask about Sarah and then leave.
Approaching the entrance, she met the beer-delivery man. He held the door and winked at her. “Thank you,” she said, trying to ignore that look in his eyes—the same look she’d seen on those men last night.
In the hallway she saw boxes stacked along the wall. A dressing room with women’s clothes all over the place was to the right. A cleaning woman was hanging up the clothes and dusting. Good. At least someone not directly involved with the club was here. To the left was a hall with several doors and a staircase. Then she spotted the double doors that led to the inside of the club. Maybe someone there could help her.
She pushed open the door. Three men were talking at the bar, and when they saw her, they fell quiet. The man in the middle, the one she’d encountered last night, came over to her with a scowl on his face.
“How the hell did you get out of that room?” He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her through the door, still holding on to her.
“Let go of me,” she shouted, and tried to pull away, but his thick fingers held her tight.
“Listen, bitch.” His black eyes bored into her. “You don’t give orders around here, and I want a damn good explanation from Ric on how you escaped.” He yanked her toward the stairs.
It suddenly hit her that he thought she was Sarah. That was both good and bad—good that he was possibly taking her to Sarah, and bad that she was in the hands of these despicable people. At the moment there wasn’t anything she could do about either.
“You’re hurting me,” she said as she tripped on a couple of the stairs.
“Be glad I don’t wring that pretty neck of yours. You’ve been nothing but trouble since we brought you here. So shut up.”
On the landing he dragged her along to where a guy was sitting in a chair, asleep.
Her captor said a profane word and knocked the second man from the chair with one blow while still holding Serena. The felled man stumbled to his feet. “Wh-what?”
“You bastard.” The first man shoved Serena forward. “Look who I found downstairs.”
The man rubbed his jaw, muttering, “I swear, Anthony, she didn’t come out of the room.” He was clearly afraid.
“How would you know? You’ve been asleep. The boss’ll have your ass for this. She could’ve gotten away. She was just too stupid to find her way out. Now open the damn door.”
The man fumbled for a key and quickly opened the door. Anthony pushed her inside. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put,” he said, slamming and relocking the door.
Serena heard a gasp and whirled around. Sarah stood a few feet away wearing the same black robe she’d had on last night, her red hair in disarray and the hands at her cheeks shaking. “Oh, God!” Sarah cried. “Now I’m seeing things. I’m losing my mind.”
Serena’s breath froze in her throat. It was so…surreal, like looking at her own image, yet knowing it wasn’t her. She had the urge to pinch herself to make sure. Swallowing hard, she moved toward Sarah, wanting to relieve her twin’s distress.
“You’re not seeing things,” she told her. “I’m real.”
“Then why do you look like me?”
“I’m—”
Sarah broke in. “Go away and leave me alone! I can’t take any more.”
Serena wasn’t sure what to do—to blurt out who she was or try to talk calmly to her. Clearly Sarah was close to the edge.
Serena went with her instincts, knowing they had to face the truth. She held out her hand. “Touch me,” she invited. “I’m real.”
Sarah watched her for a moment, then tentatively reached out one finger and touched Serena. “You are real,” Sarah said in a breathless voice.
“Yes.” Serena linked her hand with Sarah’s, and led her to the sofa. “Let’s sit here and talk.” Glancing around, Serena noticed the place was a small apartment with a living area, bedroom and bath.
“Who are you?” Sarah asked in that same breathless voice.
“My name is Serena Farrell.”
“Farrell?” Sarah frowned. “That’s my mother’s name. Are we related?”
“Yes.” Serena took a deep breath. “My parents were Jasmine Farrell and John Welch.”
“That’s my…” Sarah’s voice trailed off and her eyes grew big.
“We’re twins. Identical twins.” Serena said the words she knew Sarah was trying to say.
“But…how? Celia never mentioned I had a twin.”
“Celia?”
“Celia Welch, my grandmother,” Sarah answered.
“Oh, Henry and Aurora Farrell raised me, and they never mentioned you, either.”
“Who are they?”
“They’re Jasmine’s parents. My—our grandp
arents,” Serena explained.
“How did that happen?”
“I’m not sure, but they must have separated us at birth.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask our grandparents that.”
“I don’t understand. If your grandparents didn’t tell you, how did you find out about me?”
“It’s a long story, but I’ll shorten it. A private investigator saw you stripping.” Sarah’s face turned pink when she said that, and Serena could see she was embarrassed, but she continued. “Then the next day he saw me in a café in Fort Worth and thought I was you. I told him I wasn’t, but he assumed I was lying because he said we looked identical. I couldn’t get that out of my head. My grandparents refused to talk about my father, so I knew nothing about him. When I asked my grandmother a little while ago, she told me things that didn’t make sense and I knew she was lying. You see, Jasmine and Gran didn’t get along and Jasmine ran away to be with my—I mean, our father. I thought maybe she wasn’t really dead, and maybe they lied about that, too. So I hired the detective to find you. Ethan, the detective, said you were stripping against your will, and you are, aren’t you?”
A noise outside the door prevented Sarah from answering. “Serena, you have to get out of here,” she said nervously.
“Why are you locked in this room?”
“It’s an even longer story, and I don’t have time to tell you.”
Serena looked at the bars on the windows, then at the door. “I’m locked in here with you. When I came in, this guy named Anthony thought I was you and literally dragged me up here. What’s going on?”
Sarah jumped to her feet and ran to the door, listening. “It’s just service people. Thank God.”
“What’s going on?” Serena asked again.
Sarah pushed her hands through her hair. “It’s awful. Just awful.” She returned to sit beside Serena. “I wanted to help Greg, plus get information for the psychology thesis I was writing.”
“Greg, the cop?”