Identity Crisis

by Eliza Watson

  He shrugged. He wondered the same thing, but half the time there was no rhyme or reason why criminals did what they did. Greed. Addiction. Stupidity. Who knew?

  “Maybe he had a false sense of security,” he said.

  “Believe me, a sense of security was something my dad never had.”

  That was apparent by his kick-ass alarm system and the two deadbolts on his front door. “I’m not saying he for sure continued his life of crime. I’m just not ruling it out at this point.”

  “Why do you care? He’s dead.”

  “I’m not out to destroy your father’s memory. I need to know if he had a partner. He needs to be stopped. My buddy’s a cop and just buried a ten-year-old boy dealing drugs at a middle school. The drug ring recruiting these kids is at least partially funded by stolen, possibly forged artwork.”

  “My dad wouldn’t have sold forged art to some drug dealer.”

  “Not saying he did, but it doesn’t take long for stolen or forged art to circulate into others’ hands. Besides, protecting you would be a lot easier if I knew who I was protecting you from.”

  “Thought I was his partner.” Her tone challenged him, yet a hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth.

  “I don’t believe that,” he said with conviction, his gaze never wavering from hers.

  Her gaze narrowed as she debated the sincerity of his comment.

  “If he was using your gallery as a front, you didn’t know about it.”

  She rolled her eyes in frustration. “He wasn’t.”

  “Look. Only one supposed compliant witness has ever died while in the WITSEC program. Anyone else died because they violated the program’s procedures, contacting family and friends, somehow giving away their new identity. From what you’ve said, your dad seemed too cautious to make such a blatant error. That’s one reason I believe this guy was from his present life. There’s like a point zero one percent chance someone from his past found him.”

  “Slight, but not impossible,” she countered.

  He groaned under his breath, glancing down at the desk next to him, wanting to beat his head against it. He spotted a sheet of paper listing flight schedules to Madison, Wisconsin. “Planning a trip?”

  “Not sure. My dad wanted to be buried in Five Lakes.” She slid the ring back and forth along the chain around her neck, peering over at a green marble container on the dresser, apparently her dad’s remains. “Not sure he deserves to be. And I don’t want to lead whoever this is back to my family. It’s bad enough they’re after me or whatever I supposedly have. Yet, his parents have a right to know what happened to their son. If they’re even still alive.”

  “They’re alive. Did a little research and discovered some cottage rentals in Five Lakes, owned and operated by the Donovans.”

  Her eyes widened. “They’re alive?”

  He nodded.

  A hopeful expression brought a smile to her lips. She had the most incredible smile. He’d do everything in his power to give her plenty of more reasons to smile.

  She gazed down at the ring on the chain, a pensive look on her face. “I need to get his remains back to his parents, but I’m not sure I want to go back there. What if his family never forgave him and don’t want anything to do with me?”

  “I doubt they’d feel that way. Until I figure out what this guy wants, I need to keep you someplace else while someone camps out here to see if he returns.” He glanced at the flight schedules. “A small-town cottage would make a good safe house. And if this guy doesn’t find what he wants here, his next stop might be Wisconsin if he discovers your family. They might need protection also. Along with your grandma, Isabelle Newman.”

  “My mom’s mom?”

  He nodded.

  “Did my dad’s file contain any other information?”

  “Not much, it’s pretty sketchy. It was back when the program and Roy were both pretty new. The Marshals were flying by the seat of their pants half the time.” She stopped sliding the ring across the chain and pressed it against her chest, nestling it between her breasts. He glanced away. “Olivia Doyle could lead whoever this guy is on a wild goose chase to some art galleries in Paris, while… Opal Davidson flies to Wisconsin.”

  Olivia’s nose crinkled in disapproval. “Opal Davidson?”

  “It’s best to keep the same initials, even the same first name, so you can catch yourself if you’re about to say or write your real name. But I don’t think you should keep Olivia in this case.”

  “Yeah, but Opal Davidson sounds like I should be in a nursing home, knitting scarves.”

  “It was the first O name that came to mind. How about Olga?”

  She let out a faint laugh. “You actually help people change their names for a living?”

  He smiled. “What name would you like?”

  “Well, if it has to start with an O, then Oriana. Read that in a book one time. An Italian heroine.”

  “Fine, Oriana, I can have a new ID by morning.”

  “So soon? I…don’t know. I need time to think about this.”

  “Sleep on it. I’ll get the ID. It’s best nobody knows who you are at this point. Your true identity could jeopardize your and your family’s safety. I have something to take care of in the morning. We can leave right after that.”

  The parole hearing. Ethan had to plead his case in front of the parole board, once again reliving that night from hell. The night he’d relived every day since he was ten. His testimony then had put the son of a bitch away, and he would continue to keep him in prison until the day the man died. Which couldn’t be soon enough. Thoughts of seeing that bastard again filled his mouth with a vile taste, which slowly diminished when he glanced at the creased outline on the white cotton sheets where Olivia had lain in bed. They undoubtedly still held her scent and the warmth of her body.

  He shoved the thoughts aside. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  As if he’d be getting any sleep with some lunatic out there and Olivia in here dressed in a skimpy nightie. It was gonna be one long night…

  * * *

  Olivia lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the wooden beams lining the ceiling. Almost 3:00 a.m., she’d been lying there over an hour with Ethan just two rooms away. After debating letting him stay, she’d decided she was more afraid of the intruder returning than of Ethan. In addition to that police officer having worked with Ethan, the officer knew Ethan was there if anything happened to her. But Ethan seemed sincerely determined to protect her and her family, with the exception of her dad’s memory. It didn’t make sense that Ethan would draw attention to the case if he had been involved in her dad’s death. Ethan might end up hurting her emotionally by attempting to tie her dad to a forgery ring, but her gut told her he wouldn’t harm her physically.

  Oddly enough, having a man on her couch who wanted to tie her dad—and possibly her, even though he claimed not—to a forgery ring wasn’t what had her on edge, unable to sleep. She envisioned Ethan lying on her red floral couch in merely a pair of boxers, sleep softening his facial features and his lean, muscular body, allowing him to look relaxed and even more attractive. Her body went warm all over, causing her face and chest to flush. How could she be so physically attracted to this man? Besides him wanting to incriminate her dad, he was too cynical, always thinking the worst of people, never trusting anyone. Just like her dad.

  In reality, she knew Ethan wasn’t lying practically naked on her couch, nor was he sleeping. He was likely posted on a chair facing the door, gun drawn, prepared to pounce the moment he heard the slightest movement in the hallway. It felt comforting to have someone else in the condo. To not only feel safer, but not so alone.

  She felt a sense of appreciation toward Ethan for having checked on her family, even though he was simply doing his job. Earlier that evening, she’d been afraid to go to her dad’s to investigate the break-in while it was dark and the intruder might return. Curiosity about her family had lured her to the computer, but she’d reminded hers
elf that finding them could destroy not only her life, but also theirs.

  In no frame of mind to make a rational decision, she’d instead gone online and spent several hours searching auctions for the middle market artwork her gallery represented currently and over the past few years. None of the major auction houses had sold any of the same works she’d sold and didn’t have any of her gallery’s paintings scheduled for sale. Nothing had shown up in reference to private sales either. Ethan might not consider this concrete evidence, but at least it was a start if he began investigating her or her dad.

  She refused to believe Ethan’s theory that the break-ins were somehow related to her dad having resumed his life of crime. But he made a good case against the mob not being involved. But if not the mob, then who was responsible for the break-ins and what were they after?

  Chapter Six

  Olivia walked into the living room just after five thirty, as daylight was peeking around the red beaded drapes covering the floor-to-ceiling bay windows. Ethan sat on the red floral couch paging through a Cosmo magazine, his stocking feet propped up on the wooden table next to an Art Digest. He looked right at home, except for the gun resting on the couch alongside him.

  No bed head, wrinkled clothes, or signs of having slept, Ethan looked the same as he had earlier that morning when he’d raced into her condo. She should have showered and put on makeup, but her body needed caffeine worse than she needed to impress Ethan Ryder. At least she’d thought so until seeing him sitting on her couch looking incredibly sexy. She smoothed a hand over her wild hairdo. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile, and his gaze softened as it traveled down over her pink jogging suit, which molded against her curves a tad. Heat crept across her cheeks and down her neck.

  His gaze sharpened, darting up to meet hers, as if he suddenly realized he was checking her out. “Ah, I could use some coffee.”

  She swallowed hard. “Oh, sure. Coffee sounds great.”

  The spacious kitchen, done in canary yellow walls with white trim and white painted cupboards, suddenly seemed small as Ethan stood directly behind her, peering over her shoulder while she opened a cupboard door. If she turned around, their bodies would be practically flush against each other.

  She tried hard to focus on the coffee selections. “I have Blue Mountain, vanilla, hazelnut…”

  “Just plain black coffee will do the trick.” He stepped away, and she let out a discreet sigh of relief.

  He relaxed his hip against the white countertop and perused the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks. Where do you live?”

  “In Lower Haight.”

  Haight-Ashbury was an eclectic area of the city with trendy shops and restaurants. Lower Haight was a bit grittier. She could see Ethan fitting in there.

  “Do you own a condo there?”

  “Rent an apartment. I spend half my nights in safe houses, so why bother buying. It’s a place to sleep. I don’t need a home.”

  “Everyone needs a home.”

  “I don’t.”

  How sad was that? All she’d ever wanted was a normal home. She’d worked hard to make her condo cozy and homey, so it felt like she’d lived there for years, which she planned to do.

  Ethan scanned the front of the fridge. An Eiffel Tower magnet held a list of phone numbers for restaurants that delivered in a two-mile radius. A photo of a Tahitian hut she’d torn out of a travel magazine in case she ever decided to take a vacation. “You like opera?”

  She glanced over at the two opera tickets to Carmen. “I was taking my dad for his birthday at the end of the month.” She popped a pod in the top of the coffee maker.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. If his eyes were as gentle and sincere as his voice, she’d start crying, and she didn’t want to put Ethan in the position of having to comfort her. If he didn’t, she’d feel like a complete idiot. Especially since she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and guarantee her everything would be all right.

  She hit the on button and the coffee machine gurgled to life, filtering water into its system.

  “Who’s that?” Ethan pointed at a photo of her and Luc.

  She hadn’t packed it away with the others when they’d broken up almost a year ago because it had been taken at her gallery’s most successful exhibition. A year with Luc, a French art critic, had been a new record for her. He’d moved back to Paris, and she hadn’t wanted to tag along. Even if she had loved him, she couldn’t have left her dad or gallery, which consumed every ounce of her energy. Besides, she’d never really fit in with Luc’s close-knit family. Not being French, they’d made her feel like an outsider the three times she’d met them. At least, she wanted to blame them that she hadn’t clicked with their family. When Luc had approached his mother with this fact, she’d denied it and didn’t speak to him for weeks. Olivia wasn’t going to be responsible for tearing apart his family.

  “A friend from Paris.” She inhaled a deep breath, the aroma of coffee relaxing her.

  He nodded faintly, appearing to question the “friend” thing. “Does he need to know you’re leaving town and supposedly coming to Paris?”

  “No. Nobody besides Rachel needs to know.”

  If she disappeared, nobody besides Rachel would likely care. She’d miss her condo, job, clients, and artists, but outside of her business partner, she had no friends or family to break ties from. Everything she’d be leaving behind, besides her condo, was job related. Even Rachel. She could almost vanish without a trace.

  “Probably best if you don’t have a neighbor pop in to water plants or get your mail. The fewer people who know you’re gone, the better.”

  She’d lived there three years, and even if she knew her neighbors well, she couldn’t imagine entrusting one with a key to her apartment or her mailbox.

  She handed Ethan a coffee mug.

  “Thanks,” he said as his phone went off at his waist. He glanced down at the display and answered it as he headed into the living room. “What’s up?”

  She started another pod of coffee brewing, and a few minutes later hazelnut coffee was filtering through her system when Ethan headed back into the kitchen.

  He took a gulp of coffee. “I’ve gotta run. Emergency. My partner Mike will be here any minute with your new ID. He’ll stay with you till I get back around nine. Our flight’s not till twelve thirty, but I have a stop I need to make on the way to the airport.” His eyes darkened, and his fingers tensed around the coffee mug. It obviously wasn’t a stop he cared to make.

  She locked the door behind Ethan and apprehension knotted her stomach as her mind scrolled through scenarios of what she might find in Wisconsin. What if her other relatives hadn’t forgiven her dad like her grandma apparently had and they didn’t accept her? What if she didn’t fit in with them? And was finding her family and dredging up her past worth possibly destroying a career she’d worked her entire life to establish, along with her future? She wouldn’t stop vacillating about going until she boarded that plane.

  But first, she had to run by her dad’s to try to figure out what the intruder was after. If it was still there, she needed bargaining power, and she also needed proof of her dad’s innocence—or rather lack of evidence tying him to a forgery ring. It wasn’t just about keeping her dad’s memory from being tarnished, but about her career. If she told Ethan she was going there, he’d insist this Mike guy go with her. And what if by some chance, instead of finding proof of her dad’s innocence, she found some clue he could twist to make her dad look guilty?

  She wasn’t worried about the intruder following her. She knew exactly how she’d lose him, and Mike. Besides, if he was breaking into her place, he obviously hadn’t found what he was looking for at her dad’s, so he had no reason to return there. Hopefully.

  * * *

  Ethan headed across town toward the SFPD. A buddy had tipped him off that the department just hauled Eduardo Torres into jail for a drive-by
shooting. Ethan had questioned the punk in reference to Roy and their witness’s deaths four months ago. Javier Diaz, leader of the Bay Warriors, was a prime suspect in the bombing, and Eduardo was his right-hand man. Javier’s ex-girlfriend had been the witness under protection when the safe house was blown up. She’d been set to testify against the Bay Warriors, providing drug connections and tying Javier to a shooting last year.

  A wide grin spread across Ethan’s face. He’d known it was only a matter of time before Eduardo landed in jail and had to give up Javier’s ass to save his own.

  Ethan’s phone rang. It was Gwen Sutter, who’d also called last night freaking out that her seventeen-year-old son, Josh, was once again threatening to run away to Philly and disclose his dad’s location to the drug dealers her husband was set to testify against. Their constant family drama over the past six months was draining at times. However, Gwen had come to rely on him as a mediator and counselor for her dysfunctional family. He couldn’t put her on ignore status.

  Five minutes later he had Gwen calmed down and apologized for not having had time to get the title transferred on the ’67 red Mustang convertible he was selling Josh for practically nothing. Ethan promised to have Mike run the car over that afternoon, and he’d deal with the paperwork later. Hopefully fixing up the car would keep Josh out of trouble and make his new life a bit more bearable.

  Ethan didn’t blame Josh for being pissed about leaving his life behind. Missing friends and family caused many witnesses to leave the program and sometimes get killed. Olivia was lucky she’d been too young to know what she was giving up. It was the innocent victims like Olivia, Josh, and Gwen he felt bad for. Ethan could offer to help Josh fix the car, but he’d be stepping over that fine line between being a protector and a friend. Letting the job get personal made doing the job more difficult. They would suck the life out of him if he let them.