Undercover Twin

by Heather Woodhaven

  Audrey turned down the stove to simmer and rushed to the door. A handsome man with a five o’clock shadow, wearing a UPS uniform, stood in the hallway of her Pasadena apartment. She appraised him and opened the door farther. He looked both ways before stepping inside and shutting the door.

  “Lee, people are starting to notice that I get a lot of deliveries. Shonda, next door, wanted to know what site I ordered from and I almost told her hands-off, he’s mine.”

  “I won’t be taking undercover assignments much longer and then I can show up as myself. Just a little longer and we can go out to restaurants like normal people.” He set down her package and pulled her in for a kiss. “I have news and a couple presents for you.”

  “Oh?”

  He held out his phone with the FBI website already loaded. Masked Network Takedown: Illegal Communication Service Dismantled.

  She grinned. “Congratulations. It must be nice to have it be public news, even though they never mention your name.”

  “Justice has been served. That’s the important thing.” He beamed and opened the box in his hand. “Now onto presents. First and most important...”

  She read the silver embossed letters on top and clasped her hands. “Gourmet s’mores?”

  He nodded. “I have one more assignment that might last a couple of months, but then I’m getting transferred to UCLA, just down the street practically, as a recruiter, with occasional side trips to Caltech and Harvey Mudd. Nothing covert, I might add. Public status.”

  Her eyes widened. It was the news they’d both been waiting for. She kissed him soundly on the lips. “Wait.” She pulled back and pointed at the s’mores.

  “It’s my way of saying you can have gourmet s’mores anytime you want.” He winked.

  “When I talked about the gourmet s’mores, I wasn’t talking about you!”

  “Oh, there was subtext.” He dodged her pretend shove and held out an envelope. “I’m also delivering a card from your sister.”

  She opened it, puzzled. “Why couldn’t she call or text it to me?” She’d been meeting with Kendra weekly. Kendra always met her covertly as well, but she still got nervous whenever they went out to a movie or dinner. One of them always needed to wear a wig and sunglasses in hopes that no one would realize they were twins. Kendra said they never knew who might be watching. Such was the life of being a sister to a covert agent, one who had no intention of leaving the job anytime soon.

  Hey, sis. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary drama, but I finally found a true lead to our biological mom. I have a feeling this one is going to take some time so I’ve taken an extended leave of absence. Don’t stress. I’ll contact you when I have real news.

  But do me a favor, will you? Wait to get married until I’m back.

  Audrey barked a laugh. “Well, that’s a bit presumptuous—”

  She glanced at Lee to find he’d dropped to one knee, a black box open to reveal a simple white gold solitaire engagement ring.

  “Audrey Clark, will you marry me?”

  She nodded, her heart pounding so hard she couldn’t speak. He stood, grinning, and took her hands. The flood of heat at his touch relaxed her enough to grab his collar and pull him close. “Yes,” she whispered. “I would love to.”

  He leaned down and gently kissed her smiling lips. Audrey closed her eyes and prayed hard her sister would hurry up and return.

  * * *

  Look for Kendra’s story Covert Christmas Twin, available in October 2019 from Love Inspired Suspense.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Recovered Secrets by Jessica R. Patch.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Audrey’s unexpected adventure with Lee. I do try to do hands-on research as much as possible but often it’s simply not possible. While I earned my solo pilot’s license at a young age, most people don’t know that the moment after I earned it, I never flew again. I loved flying with an instructor by my side. But once I was alone, flying over Iowa skies and required to perform touch-and-go landings, I stepped out of the plane barely able to walk before I about lost my lunch. I think I’d be just as terrified if piloting a hot-air balloon alone, though I do have wonderful memories of soaring in one over Kenya’s Maasai Mara National Reserve.

  Often news stories inspire me, as well. While this is entirely a work of fiction, I marveled at the FBI’s takedown of Phantom Secure, an encrypted communication service utilized by international organized crime. I’ve also had a story about separated twins percolating for years. I’m thrilled the story ideas meshed together so well, and I can’t wait for you to read Kendra’s story, Covert Christmas Twin, next month.

  Blessings,

  Heather Woodhaven

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired Suspense every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards and reward the book lover in you!

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever and whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS of your choice

  OR

  EXCLUSIVE GIFTS from your favorite authors or series.

  Click here to join for FREE

  Or visit us online to register at

  www.HarlequinMyRewards.com

  Harlequin My Rewards is a free program (no fees) without any commitments or obligations.

  Recovered Secrets

  by Jessica R. Patch

  ONE

  Grace Thackery was living on a borrowed name; she’d lost every single memory prior to the past year and a half since she’d awakened from a six-month coma. But as she breezed into the kitchen at the Muddy River Inn, inhaling the smell of cinnamon and yeasty dough, she had no doubt she’d loved cinnamon rolls. How could anyone not? She rubbed the round locket around her neck. At least she thought it was a locket, but it wouldn’t open—it was as locked as her memories. Had it been a gift from a family member, a friend...a boyfriend, fiancé or husband?

  Tish LaMont looked up and grinned, her plump face colored pink from the oven heat; the lines around her lips and eyes showed she’d spent most of her life happy. She slid a pan of rolls onto the butcher block island and waved a pot holder over the steam. “If this rain doesn’t let up soon, we’ll float away. I can’t tell you the last time we had this much in Cottonwood. April showers are supposed to bring May flowers. Not more showers,” she drawled in a rich, Mississippi accent.

  Grace snickered and helped herself to a cinnamon roll; the fresh hot glaze dripped onto her dessert plate. She’d lick that up last. It had been raining the past eight days straight. Gray and dismal. Something about it felt familiar, teetering on the edge of her fuzzy mind but unwilling to surface. “If I ever lose my memory again, there’s no way I’d forget these.”

  Tish snorted and used her wrist to push away a strand of bobbed gray hair. According to Tish, women over fifty needed to let go and let God. And that meant allowing the silver to rule as a crown of glory and wisdom. Grace wasn’t sure what she meant, but it had to be something out of scripture. Tish was the godliest woman Grace had ever met—in the past year and a half, that is.

  This woman had taken her under her wing,
physically and spiritually, the day Hollister Montgomery—the man who’d rescued her—brought her to Tish. She’d given her a place to live, turning the garden shed into a small living quarter, and in return Grace helped Tish around the inn for a meager, but livable, salary. A man at Hollis’s church had given her a car. Once she got behind the wheel, the muscle memory had taken over. Weird thing about retrograde amnesia—she’d lost some words but not her procedural memory. She might not remember the name for a spoon, but she could drive a car or even ride a bike if she’d done it often in her past. Hollis insisted she take lessons and a driver’s test anyway. He’d worked with the sheriff to get her a temporary ID and license.

  “You going to the facility today?” Tish asked, and pointed to her search-and-rescue raincoat.

  “Yep. I told Hollis I’d help him do inventory.”

  “Hmm,” Tish said and gave her a knowing eye. The one she always gave when Grace mentioned him.

  Grace couldn’t have romantic feelings for Hollis—or anyone. How could she? What if she was already married—or in a relationship and her beloved was out there hunting for her, worried sick? And even if that weren’t the case, what did a woman with no memory have to offer? Nothing. Literally. She could see a first date now: Where did you grow up? I don’t know. What do you love to do in your spare time? I can’t remember. Do you have any brothers or sisters? Maybe.

  Tish pointed toward the small dining area for guests. “Not many today. The two businessmen from Memphis. The Westcott couple. And a man from Jackson.” She rubbed her hands on her apron. “Before you head out—and take Hollis a couple of those cinnamon rolls—would you carry these into the dining room?”

  “You got it.” She licked her fingers and washed her hands, then carried a platter of glazed goodness to the buffet in the dining area. She nodded a hello to guests she recognized and spotted the man from Jackson, Mississippi, at the table by the window, sipping coffee and gazing at the rain. He glanced her way as if he felt her watching, but made no move to be polite, to smile or even acknowledge he had locked eyes on her.

  “Good morning,” she said softly and set the tray of sweets next to the bowl of fresh fruit. “Tish makes homemade cinnamon rolls that are out of this world.”

  He said nothing, only stared.

  “Are you okay, sir?” She moved closer to his table. Was he having a stroke? His fist tightened, and he cocked his head. “Sir?”

  He blinked out of his stupor. “Fine. Sorry. I’m fine. I’m Peter Rainey.”

  “Grace Thackery.”

  “You work here or just doing a favor?” he asked and studied her. Not in an uncomfortable way, but curious.

  “For almost two years now.” She granted him a smile and he returned it, dimples creasing deep into his cheeks.

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin, a shade darker than his close-cropped blond hair. “And before that?”

  “This and that.” Probably. Surely. She shrugged. “So, what are you in town doing?” Her lack of memory was no one’s entertainment. It was a horror story at best.

  “Business.”

  Grace checked her watch. “Well, I hope it goes well. If you need an umbrella, Tish keeps extras by the front door.” She waved and bustled to the kitchen. Before opening it, she tossed a look at Mr. Rainey. He was still watching her, his eyebrows pulled together creating a line across his brow. He couldn’t possibly know her. Could he? If so, why wouldn’t he have said something? She shook off the thought and snagged the to-go box of cinnamon rolls for Hollis, then she poured a cup of coffee and snapped the plastic lid over it.

  She hollered a quick goodbye as Tish stirred a vat of gravy for biscuits and then she rushed into the steady rain. Once inside the small four-door Honda Civic, she removed her hood and set off for the SAR facility. She’d been volunteering at the search-and-rescue organization for over a year. It had started out to keep her busy while she was acclimating to her new normal, but when she discovered she loved the outdoors, hiking and had several survival skills—including tying a slip knot like a pro—Hollis had suggested she take the classes to join the volunteer team. Maybe she’d been a Girl Scout troop leader.

  Being a part of a team and helping others had been a lifesaver for Grace. Guess Hollis suspected she needed to feel useful. He was intuitive and patient. Always going the extra mile to help others, including Grace. He’d made sure she had a place to live, to work, and he’d also taken her to church on Sundays. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever given her heart and life to God, but after a few months of attending she felt the urge to make the commitment.

  The women had been kind and helpful, inviting her to Bible studies and quilting classes—she was a natural with a needle and thread—but the love and friendship she’d been lavished with still didn’t combat the nighttime warring where she wrestled with who she was—who she’d been. Did she want to be that person again? Were her interests and likes now the same as the woman once before? Would she ever know?

  As she turned on Old Highway 4, a pop sounded and the car jerked to the right. The smell of rubber stamped out the homey scent of coffee and cinnamon. She veered off the shoulder and parked. Clambering out into the rain, she spotted the right front tire blown, tread hanging limply on the ground. Growling under her breath, she opened the trunk and hauled out the jack and the spare. Hey! She knew how to fix a tire. It was all there in her mind. Score. Maybe she was a mechanic. Or she had an attentive father who wanted her to be independent. Or a husband...boyfriend...brother?

  She knelt in the wet puddle and went to work.

  Headlights stabbed through the dappled haze. A pickup eased onto the shoulder of the road. She waved as two men clambered out and headed toward her. Both wearing jeans and work boots.

  “I got it, fellas, but thanks for getting out in the rain to help a lady.” Were the people where she once lived as cordial?

  The shorter, stockier man didn’t smile and the taller one ran a hand through his black rain-slicked hair—his eyes glinted like a shark’s. Grace’s neck hairs stood at attention and a pit of dread hollowed out her gut.

  “I see you have a little trouble, eh?” The taller man shot her a wild smile, and the hungry animal gleam in his eyes said he very well may have done something to give her this trouble.

  “No...no,” she stammered. “I’m doing fine on my own.” Rain trickled down her face and she gripped the jack as the stockier man edged to the left of her and the one speaking stalked her dead-on.

  “We just want to know where the doctor is.”

  Grace’s heart hammered in her chest as she jumped to her feet, her knees like jelly and her hands trembling. It was pretty clear they weren’t talking about Dr. Jones, the local General Practitioner. “You...you stay back. I don’t know anything about a doctor.”

  He laughed. “Don’t play stupid. All you have to do is tell us the truth and no harm comes to you. But if you hold out...”

  She backed up a step and right into the chest of the shorter Latino. He gripped her upper arms with force. “You hold out and we mess you up. Where’s the doctor? We won’t ask again.” He hurled Spanish slurs and she recognized them. She knew Spanish! At least the bad words. His fingers dug into her arms and she winced. Tears burned her eyes. “You don’t understand. I really can’t help you. I was hurt—”

  “Now you’re hurt,” the jerk gripping her said, and slung her to the ground into a thick puddle of muddy water saturating the grass. His boot landed on the back of her head, forcing her face into the water. Panic raced through her veins and then into her throat, clogging it with a suppressed scream.

  This was going to end terribly.

  Grace’s lungs lit on fire with the need to consume air.

  Suddenly her right foot connected with his groin, as if it had a mind of its own, releasing his boot from her head. She flipped on her back, gulped in the air, rose up and grabbed the man hun
ching over her by his shirt collar, pulling him toward her and the ground while placing her feet on his chest. She rolled back into the soggy earth, using the momentum to flip the man over her body and into the taller guy.

  They both crumpled into the spongey grass.

  How had she done that? The shorter attacker growled and told the other guy, in Spanish, to get a handle on her. Before she had a good clear thought she launched toward the man making it to his feet and muscled him toward the car, then she shoved his head onto the hood with so much force it reverberated through her entire arm. He collapsed and didn’t move.

  The last assailant grabbed her hair and she bent forward, tossing him over her, then clutched the jack and slammed it into his head.

  Grace dropped it when he went still. Oh no. What had she done? Her body trembled with total fear—from the men, from her behavior. Flight mode kicked in and she sprinted the two miles to the SAR facility.

  She busted into Hollis’s office, startling him out of his chair. “I’m a ninja!” she squawked, panting for breath, dripping wet. “I’m a...ninja!” She frantically shook her head, disbelief washing over her again as the scenario replayed through her brain. “I thought I was a chef or a Girl Scout leader. But I’m a ninja! I’m a ninja—”

  She assaulted a man with a jack! Yes, he came at her first...but she didn’t even hesitate. A weird predatory urge had taken over and she...she... What had she done?

  “Grace,” Hollis said in a calming but wary tone as he swung around the desk, his dark-eyed gaze giving her the strength she needed. “I need you to breathe, honey. Slow down. Let’s press Pause. Get your bearings.” He pushed a mass of wet hair from her face and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “Focus,” he drawled in his rich baritone voice that always brought her comfort.

  “You don’t understand.” He hadn’t witnessed her takedown, beating them like ragdolls with no thought whatsoever. “I have kung fu moves. And I know Spanish!” She told him in perfect Spanish she was a ninja and she thought she’d killed a man.