Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1)

by Matthews, Alana

  "Really? Define bad."

  "We'll be fine," he said. "And the chances of our gun happy friends finding us here are pretty much nonexistent."

  "Hooray," I murmured, although I had to admit the idea of not being shot at had its appeal. I was also bone tired. And as much I would have loved to be in my own bed, in my own apartment, I knew that was impossible at this point. So if this place at least had decent beds, I was all too happy to utilize one.

  But as we pushed our way inside the office, I was still reeling over the thought that Parker was planning to take me to Houston. I'd had it in my mind that he'd escort me to some kind of holding cell, then I'd see a judge in the morning and get this whole crazy thing cleared up.

  But Houston?

  I mean... Houston?

  Houston was at least two hundred fifty miles away. And if we drove there instead of flying, the trip would take the good part of a day.

  And what would happen then? A hearing in court? A jail cell for the night? How long would this nightmare continue before it was over?

  I considered making one last appeal to Parker in hopes that he'd believe that I really was just a lowly college student who had never hurt a soul, but I knew I'd be wasting my breath. He was as single-minded and stubborn as any male I'd ever met.

  As he rang the bell on the front desk, I decided I didn't have anything to lose, and rattled off a ten digit number.

  "Is that supposed to mean something?" he asked.

  "My mother's phone number. She lives in Ft. Lauderdale and she's probably asleep, but I'm pretty sure she'd want to clear up any doubts you have about my identity. Her name is Angela. Angela Coe."

  "Nice touch," he said. "So who's really on the other end of the line? Your handler? One of your employers?" He smiled. "I'll bet you've worked up a backstory and everything. Just in case."

  Oh, there was a backstory all right. One that I preferred not to get into.

  Truth was, I hadn't seen my mother in several months, and only called her when I absolutely had to. She and I had never really gotten along, and things between us grew worse after my father died. He had always been the buffer, and without him it was often all out war.

  That didn't mean we didn't love each other, and my mother would surely vouch for me. But then she'd spend the next two hours lecturing me about not having a boyfriend and how she had never trusted Josh and how badly I had screwed up my life. It would've been my fault that I'd wound up in this situation. Something I had said or done that had surely lined up the Gods of Karma against me.

  "Look," Parker said, and seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure. Maybe he was as exhausted as I was. "The sooner you accept that this as a done deal, the better off you'll be. And while I'll admit you don't look like much of a killer, I also know that looks can be deceiving. There isn't a single doubt in my mind about who you are, so nothing you say or do will convince me otherwise."

  "You really are a jerk, you know that?"

  He was about to respond when a door behind the counter opened and a bleary-eyed desk clerk stumbled out. He was middle-aged and gaunt and hadn't shaved or changed his shirt in at least a week. He looked only briefly at Parker, then gave me the once over—twice.

  A tiny smile appeared on his lips and I had a feeling he was tucking my image into his private spank bank, although the chances of me fulfilling any fantasies he might have been conjuring up were about as likely as thermonuclear war breaking out before morning. And even if it did, he still wouldn't get lucky.

  "Can I help you?" he asked.

  Parker nodded. "One room, two beds."

  That raised an eyebrow. "Eighty-three bucks a night, plus tax."

  Parker reached for his wallet. "Do we get mints on our pillows for that price?"

  "No," the clerk said, now staring openly at my chest. "But I'll be happy to tuck this one in, if you like."

  Parker flipped the wallet open and slammed his badge onto the counter, immediately drawing the clerk's gaze. "You want to adjust the attitude? Or do I have to adjust it for you?"

  The clerk swallowed and his face went pale. "Uh, nossir, no. I didn't mean no disrespect."

  "Of course you didn't. You'd be in very serious trouble if you had."

  The clerk smiled weakly, then turned silently to his computer and started tapping at the keys.

  TEN

  The room had only one bed. A queen with a lumpy mattress.

  "Son of a bitch," Parker said. "I knew I should have kicked that creep's ass."

  "So go back and get a new room," I told him.

  He shook his head. "Forget it. I'm dog tired. We'll just have to make do."

  I looked at him in disbelief. "Do you really expect me to sleep with you?"

  That hadn't come out exactly the way I had intended it, and I blushed slightly, but Parker didn't seem to notice. He grabbed hold of my wrists, unceremoniously swung me toward the bed and pushed me onto it.

  "Word to the wise," he said. "If you think you're gonna seduce your way out of this, think again."

  I eyed him incredulously. "Seduce my way out of this? Seriously?"

  "You're a beautiful woman with a body that only a blind man could miss and I know you won't hesitate to use it. But, trust me, I'm immune. My bank account is a lot more important to me than a night in the sack."

  I probably should have been infuriated by this little rant.

  I probably should have spit in his face.

  But I have a confession to make. It had been a long time since anyone—especially a guy this attractive—had even hinted that I was worth looking at. So I won't lie to you. At some deep, instinctual and very perverse level, I was flattered. And for a moment—God save me—I felt that same twinge of electricity I'd experienced when I first saw him on the bus.

  But I couldn't let him know this. I was ashamed to even admit it to myself.

  I scowled at him and struggled to sit upright. "You're disgusting. You're nothing but a bully."

  "This coming from a woman who kills people for a living."

  "I told you, I'm not—"

  "Yeah, yeah, you're Kelsey freaking Coe. And this Little Miss Innocent act is getting pretty old. What kind of name is that, anyway? Because it doesn't sound even remotely genuine."

  "I'm sure my mother will thank you if you ever bother to call her."

  "Not likely."

  "And speaking of acts," I said, "I'm pretty sure you can get yourself in deep trouble for impersonating a federal marshal."

  "Your concern is noted."

  I eyed him defiantly, wondering how on earth I could be attracted to a guy who was so maddening.

  The human psyche is a strange, strange thing.

  Sitting upright, I scooted back and leaned against the headboard. "I so can't wait to see your face when they tell you you've got the wrong person."

  "Again, not likely."

  "That's what you think."

  He stepped closer to the bed now. "Oh?"

  He reached for the folded newspaper under his arm. He had bought it from a vending machine outside the motel office just before we'd headed for the room. Now he opened it, found the story he was looking for, then folded the paper again and dropped it in my lap.

  "Are you telling me that's not you?"

  I looked down at the page and froze.

  My heart started pounding. I could hear it my ears.

  The article's headline read HOUSTON BUSINESSMAN MURDERED IN BED, and below it was a story detailing the killing of a prominent night club owner named Anton Papanov, who had been shot in the head at his penthouse apartment by a visiting call girl.

  As bad as this was, it wasn't the worst of it. In the middle of the article was a photograph, shot by a surveillance camera in an underground parking lot. According to the text, the call girl had parked in the lot as instructed by Papanov, and taken the elevator to the Penthouse. The surveillance shot showed the woman emerging from her car—a six-year-old light-colored Honda Civic.

  I drove a
six-year-old light-colored Honda Civic.

  Worse yet, although she was mostly in shadow, the woman emerging from the car looked very much like... well... me.

  Same size.

  Similar build.

  Same basic age.

  The face was murky, but I knew immediately who it was.

  Emily. My new BFF Emily. The girl I shared so much in common with. The girl I had met in Zumba class and had dinner with at least once a week.

  The girl who, just two days ago, had asked to borrow my car.

  The girl who had killed Anton Papanov.

  "Oh my God," I said, my heart threatening to explode inside my chest. "She set me up."

  ELEVEN

  "They found the car right where you left it," Parker told me. "A block from the apartment building."

  "Did you hear what I just said?"

  "I don't know what you were thinking, but your prints were all over it. They also found the gun you used under the front seat. It took them a while to locate you, but right now they're probably busy tearing up your apartment, trying to tie you to the other murders they think you're responsible for."

  The nightmare had just gotten worse. A lot worse. I couldn't even fathom the magnitude of it.

  Emily wasn't Emily at all. And she sure as hell wasn't my friend. Or the sister I'd never had.

  She was Mia Duncan. Professional killer. Seductress. Hit woman.

  It couldn't be a coincidence that we looked so much alike. And I was pretty damn sure there was no dead father in the picture. Not hers, anyway. Her trip to Houston had actually been a trip to execute someone else's father. Or son. Or husband. Or boyfriend. And she had used me as cover.

  "What kind of person does something like this?" I murmured, feeling as if I'd been punched in the stomach.

  "Kill a man in cold blood? I think you'd know the answer to that better than—"

  "How many times do I have to tell you this? I'm not Mia Duncan. She obviously set me up."

  Parker shook his head in disbelief. "Have you even been listening to me? They've got your car near the scene. Your prints. The gun. And they probably would've grabbed you downtown if I hadn't beat them to the punch."

  "And how did you beat them? How do you know all this?"

  "Connections, hot stuff. It's all about connections. You've been on the FBI's greatest hits list for months."

  "Months?"

  "You're a popular girl, Mia. I got a tip that I'd find you at that bus stop tonight, so I just parked my car and waited." He smiled. "Which means I win the prize."

  A tip?

  No doubt Emily again. Who else would know I didn't have a car?

  Why she'd tip off this jerk was anyone's guess, but here we were…

  I said, "If I'm supposed to be some deadly contract killer, why would I be stupid enough to leave my own car a block from the building?"

  "Trust me, smart people do stupid things all the time."

  "Yeah, but this stupid?"

  "Maybe you didn't realize you'd been caught on camera. Maybe you thought you could go back and retrieve the car when the heat wore off. Or maybe you didn't care about some random identity you created for cover. It isn't my job to second guess your motives."

  "Or maybe Mia Duncan—the real Mia Duncan—thought she could lay the blame at my doorstep by borrowing my car and planting evidence."

  He rolled his eyes again. "Uh-huh."

  "Think about it," I said. "If Kelsey Coe is just some random identity, why the hell would I even go back to Hunter City, let alone my temp job?"

  He assessed me curiously. This was obviously something he hadn't considered. But he dismissed it with a wave and gestured to the news photo. "The picture doesn't lie. If that's not you, who is it?"

  "My friend Emily. Emily Finn."

  I couldn't believe she had betrayed me like this. In some ways it was like getting dumped by Josh all over again. I liked Emily. Had trusted her. Had thought she liked me. But all that time we'd spent together, talking about men and our jobs and our families, had been a charade.

  I felt so used.

  "Emily Finn, huh? How do you come up with these, anyway? You have some kind of random name generator in your head?"

  I sighed. "What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

  He gave me a look, smirked. "Aren't you supposed to thrust your chest out a little when you say that?"

  "You're revolting."

  "Any woman who can climb into a guy's bed, put a bullet in his brain, then spend the next ten minutes showering off the blood doesn't exactly have the higher moral ground here. At least not where I come from."

  I was about to respond when a cell phone bleeped, cutting me off, and Parker dug into his pocket and pulled it out. Glancing at the screen, he held a finger up, gesturing for me to be quiet, then crossed to the other side of the room.

  He put it to his ear, keeping his voice low. "Hey, what's up? Why aren't you asleep?" He listened for a moment. "No, it looks like I'm gonna be stuck here all night. I should be back by tomorrow afternoon."

  A girlfriend, from the tone of his voice. Or maybe even his wife—although he was still fairly young and wasn't wearing a ring. Either way, he was taken. And as much as I hated to admit it, I felt a twinge of disappointment.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Did I not have a single ounce of self-respect?

  Get a grip, Kelsey.

  It's just the hormones talking.

  This guy isn't worth two seconds of your time.

  "Oh?" Parker was saying with a smile in his voice. "What did you get me?" He laughed softly. "Not even a hint?" A pause. "Oh, don't you worry, I wouldn't miss it for the world. But I gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow. Hugs and kisses."

  He hung up and turned, looking at me. "So where were we?"

  "You were falsely accusing me of a crime while the real killer gets away scot free."

  "You're starting to annoy me, you know that?" He crossed back to the bed and dug a hand into his pocket, bringing out the cuff key. "Do you have to pee or anything?"

  "Uh... no," I said. "Why?"

  "Kick off your shoes and lay down at the edge of the mattress. Face up."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Lay down at the edge of the mattress."

  I frowned at him. "This isn't some kind of kinky sex thing, is it?"

  "No, it's some kind of kinky law enforcement thing to make sure you don't go anywhere."

  I hesitated. "While you do what?"

  "Get some sleep, I hope. Now will you lay down please?"

  I eyed him defiantly, but finally did as I was told. What choice did I really have?

  When I was in position, he grabbed hold of my hands, unlatched the cuff from one wrist, then crouched next to the bed, pulled me onto my side and brought my arms toward the floor. Pushing the flap of the comforter aside, he threaded the unhooked cuff under the box spring, behind the exposed metal bed frame, then brought it up again and snapped it on my wrist.

  "That should do it."

  I was teetering on the edge of the mattress and felt as if I might fall off. Comfortable it wasn't. "You expect me to stay like this?"

  "You can lay on the floor, if you want to."

  "I can barely move" I said.

  "That's the general idea."

  I looked around the room. "But what if there's a fire or something? What am I supposed to do then?"

  "I guess you'll have a nice little preview of where you're headed. Now, I'd like to get some sleep, so if you're gonna keep babbling, I'm gonna have to gag you. Is that what you want?"

  "Isn't it enough that you've got me trussed up like a—?"

  "Is that what you want?"

  I shut my mouth. He moved to a switch on the wall and shut off the light, then stepped around to the foot of the bed and climbed on next to me. I craned my neck, but could barely see him in the moonlight filtering in from the window.

  "If you touch me," I said, "I swear to God I'll scream."

  He sighed. "G
o to sleep."

  "I mean it."

  "I'll try to keep my hands to myself." His voice was laced with sarcasm. "It'll be tough to resist with that cute little ass within reach, but I think I'll manage."

  "You're an ape."

  "Yeah, and I'm disgusting and revolting, too. Now shut your mouth and go to sleep."

  TWELVE

  To my surprise, I actually did fall asleep.

  But it didn't last long. Overcome by a nagging anxiety, I came awake to hear Parker breathing quietly beside me, and craned my neck to get a look at him. He was facing me, his stubbled jaw slack, his mouth open slightly, and I didn't doubt that he'd been telling the truth about being dog tired.

  Mouth breather or not, he really was a fine specimen of a man, even if his personality was best described in pejoratives. I should have been repelled by him, but I wasn't. My mind and body seemed to be running on two separate wavelengths.

  What this meant, of course, was that I was a sucker for what my mother had always called "booty bait." Even to my own detriment. I thought about all the men who had fallen prey to wanton and dangerous seductresses like Mia "Emily Finn" Duncan, and I now understood exactly how they felt.

  Call me crazy if you want to, but I just couldn't help myself. This guy had a way of setting my libido on fire.

  Turning away, I tried to adjust my position a bit. My arms were starting to go numb and I thought about dropping over the side of the bed and lying on the floor, as Parker had so graciously suggested. But the cheap carpet was about a step above the lining of a rat cage, and the appeal quickly wore off.

  As I looked down at the cuffs, barely a glint in the moonlight, it seemed that one of them—the one around my right wrist—was not fastened as tight as it could have been. There was some wiggle room there, and I thought that if I worked very carefully, compressing my hand as much as humanly possible, I might be able to squeeze it through.

  Might being the operative word.

  But then what?

  Parker was asleep, but would he stay that way? Would I be able to slide off the bed, free myself and get out the door without him waking up?

  And if I managed to get that far, what would I do then? Turn myself over to the federal authorities?