I regretted my words the minute they left my mouth. Neither of us had been ready to leave the teams when we had, but Brody was having a harder time adjusting to civilian life. I wasn’t able to be a SEAL anymore, but it didn’t take me long to recover from my knee replacement surgery. Brody was still struggling with his injuries and it had left him feeling bitter.
“Shit, man. I’m sorry,” I apologized.
His silence had me wondering if he was going to hang up. “It’s okay, Saint. Just be careful out there. I know this is personal for you, but you need to distance yourself and treat it like any other mission. Find Serena, get her out of whatever trouble she’s landed herself in, and get out.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, but it was pointless since he’d already hung up on me.
I hopped into the cab and gave the driver the author’s address. During the ride, I went back online to check for any more stories about her death. Still no statement from the police and no updates to any of the stories already out there. I felt like I was batting zero when it came to finding intel on the situation. I did a quick search of the author as we entered her neighborhood, finding her website and Facebook page.
Her last update was about ten days ago, saying she was going to be out of touch for a couple weeks while she was finishing up a manuscript. Apparently, she was checked into a hotel less than thirty minutes from her house to get away from everyone. I wondered if she managed to finish the book before someone killed her and hoped like hell her house would give me a lead on what happened to Serena.
As we entered her neighborhood, I asked the cabbie to drop me off about a mile from her house. The houses were nicer than I expected—being an author must have paid better than I thought. The further I walked, the bigger the lots were. Once I got a couple houses down from her place, the first thing I noticed was the cop car parked out front.
When I saw the ‘for sale’ sign in the yard across the street, I headed in that direction, playing the interested buyer. Peering into the windows in front and walking around to the back yard, I kept my attention split between the vacant home and the one across the street. The opportunity to gather intel was too good to pass up. When the cops headed back to their car, I made sure I was rounding the corner of the yard. They came from her neighbor’s house and changed direction as soon as they noticed me.
“Good afternoon, officers,” I greeted them, trying to look as harmless as possible. It wasn’t an easy thing to do when you were six-foot-three of solid muscle, but it was worth a shot.
The younger one approached me. If I had to guess, I would have said he only had a few years on the job. “Good afternoon, sir. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Anything you need, officer. I’m not sure I’ll be of any help since I just flew in today on business. I’m looking at some houses for my boss over the next few days.” I wanted to make sure I crossed myself off their suspect list immediately by making it clear I couldn’t have murdered the author since I had been on an airplane. Using Damian as my excuse for house shopping bought me time if they wanted to look deeper. He was almost impossible to reach by phone unless he wanted to take your call. And if I asked him to be unavailable, then he’d make sure it happened until Brody and I could build a cover story for why Damian would have sent me to Atlanta.
The cops took down my information after asking me a few more questions. I was surprised when they headed back to their car and left. It looked like luck was on my side, after all. I wasn’t familiar with police procedure, but it seemed odd they weren’t leaving someone behind to watch her house. Then again, I’d never been involved in a murder investigation before, so what the hell did I know? They head probably already searched her house. At least, I hoped they had. It would be damn inconvenient if they came back while I was inside.
If I were doing my job as lead breacher overseas in a war zone, I could just blow my way into the house in question. Not today, though. I was in the middle of a suburban neighborhood and needed to get inside without drawing unwanted attention. If I got caught, I’d have a hell of a time explaining what I was doing since I was operating outside the law on a mission I’d basically given myself. On the plus side, at least I couldn’t be court-martialled since I wasn’t in the Navy anymore.
Luckily for me, Ms. Sinclair didn’t have one of those security system signs in front of her house like so many in the neighborhood did. It wasn’t a guarantee she didn’t have one, but it upped the odds in my favor. As I strolled past her place, I also noted the privacy fence and tree line made her backyard private. Not the usual I-don’t-want-my-neighbors-peaking-into-my-windows private, but the I-want-to-be-in-my-backyard-and-pretend-nobody-lives-near-me private. That boded well for me, too.
When I doubled back and nobody was outside, it was too much of a temptation to pass up. I headed for the gate I spied in the privacy fence. A quick squeeze of the handle told me the author was seriously lax with her security. She’d made it public knowledge that she was going to be out of town for two weeks and then didn’t even bother to lock the gate to her yard. It looked like she was fucking clueless to the dangers out there—something that might have resulted in her murder.
Pushing that morbid thought aside, I got down to business, looking for clues. The place wasn’t what I’d call clean—it certainly wouldn’t pass the white glove test—but she wasn’t a complete slob.
As I searched through drawers and closets, I discovered she was a bit of a hoarder though, which made the search more difficult. It seemed like her favored method of cleaning was to dump stuff out of sight. Other than a mess, I wasn’t having any luck finding a single clue to how deep her connection was to Serena or what shit she was involved in that would make someone want to kill her.
By the time it had gotten dark outside, I had just about given up on finding anything. I still hadn’t heard anything from Serena, and Brody’s background check on Delia Sinclair didn’t turn up a single thing out of the ordinary.
The sound of the garage door going up startled me, setting me into motion. It was a good thing I had been trained to make split second decisions with limited information because that skill set was being put to the test right now. I moved toward the kitchen as I ran the possible scenarios through my head. If it was Serena using a friend’s place to lay low, then I was in the clear. If it was a boyfriend or family member of the dead author, I was probably screwed. A cleaning person or friend, I might be okay. The bottom line was, I had no way of knowing which scenario I was about to face, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going out the back without knowing if the person walking through that door was Serena.
Right as my decision was made, I heard the sound of the garage door lowering, quickly followed by the door connecting the garage to the house opening and closing. A deep feminine sigh resonated, but I stayed in position on the other side of the refrigerator and out of sight. The sound of footsteps got closer and then a woman entered the kitchen. I hadn’t meant to make a noise, but I shifted as soon as I realized who was standing in front of me. I moved toward her so I could cover her mouth and get her under control before she screamed and one of the neighbors came to see what was wrong. And holy fuck, there was plenty wrong with this situation since the woman was supposed to be dead.
My heart fell at the realization of what seeing her alive meant for Serena. Someone had checked into the Hilton last night as Delia Sinclair and was killed in that hotel room this morning. With Serena nowhere to be found and Delia standing in front of me, there was only one conclusion I could make: it was Serena’s body they had found.
Seeing Delia for the first time in person, I understood why Serena might have chosen to use her identity. The resemblance hadn’t been clear in the photo from the newspaper article, but they were both approximately five-foot-six with curvy figures. Delia’s hair was only a couple shades darker than Serena’s had been. She was exactly my type and I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she was. It was completely in
appropriate considering the situation, but my groin tightened with need and I had to wrangle it back.
This was about as wrong a time as any for me to lust after a woman. The thought crossed my mind that I probably just needed to get laid, but I ruthlessly pushed it away, too. Instead, I focused on the woman’s delicate features, the shadows under her eyes, the vulnerability shining brightly from them like a beacon. Odds were damn good she was an innocent in this whole damn mess—someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn’t let it matter to me, though. The fact of the matter was she was already a part of this clusterfuck. The second Serena checked into a hotel under her name, she was involved. And if Serena had been able to pass for Delia, then the opposite was true and I just might have to use her as bait to draw the bad guys out.
Chapter 4
Delia
I didn’t even have time to react to the sight of a stranger in my house before I was grabbed. His hand covered my mouth as I tried to scream, making it come out more like a muffled yelp. I struggled against his hold, frantic to get away—to find help. If I were anything like the heroines in my books, I would know how to free myself with some fancy self-defense moves. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the least bit athletic and would probably hurt myself. Still, I wasn’t going to give up without a fight of some kind. A self-inflicted injury had to be better than whatever he planned to do with me.
Unable to break free from his hold or scream for help, I was quickly growing more frantic. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my chest. Tears of frustration streamed down my cheeks. My muffled yelps had quickly turned to frightened whimpers as a litany of regrets tumbled through my mind.
If only I hadn’t drunk the entire bottle of wine last night.
If only I had left the cabin earlier¸ I would have been home with my lights blazing—a clear deterrent to a burglar casing my neighborhood.
If only I had that damn security system installed like I kept planning to do instead of putting it off.
If only...
“I’m not here to hurt you.” My whirling thoughts stopped and my body stilled at the sound of his voice—a low rumble I found oddly soothing. “It’s my fault you’re scared right now and I’ve given you no reason to trust me—I get that. But I need you to give me a chance to explain. Can you do that?”
I nodded frantically, desperate to believe he was telling me the truth. If not, I was in trouble. There was no way I could defend myself against this guy. The arms wrapped around my body were roped with muscle and he towered over me by at least half a foot. I wasn’t a small woman by any means of the imagination, but I felt tiny against his massive chest.
“I’m going to pull my hand away now, but you have to promise not to scream. If you do, I’m going to have to do something to keep you quiet,” he warned. I nodded again, even though I knew I’d scream if it were my only option. Doing something was better than doing nothing. “You really don’t want me to have to do that.”
His last words were gruffly spoken in a guttural tone, sending shivers up my spine. I had no idea what this man would do to ensure I didn’t yell and I had a feeling I never wanted to know—especially if it meant experiencing it firsthand. I forced myself to relax, nodding my head once more to let him know I understood the threat and took it seriously.
He moved us closer to the kitchen table and I heard a clattering noise as his foot hooked a chair to pull it away from the table. I felt stark relief at the loosening of his hold until his hands gripped my arms as he pushed me down to sit. When he yanked another chair out and sat next to me, he was close enough that my legs pressed against his.
My jaw almost dropped open as I got my first good look at him. If I had to conjure up an image of an intruder, he was the last thing I would come up with on my own. On the other hand, if I was putting pen to paper and building a character description for one of my heroes, he’d fit perfectly. He had tall, dark, and dangerous down to a tee. His dark brown hair was cut short, almost in a military style, but a tad longer. My fingers practically twitched with the desire to run them over his head to see if it would feel bristly or soft against my palm. Piercing blue eyes were a startling contrast to his tanned skin and the ridiculously long eyelashes framing them were the only feminine thing about him, though it didn’t do much to soften the brutal masculinity of his face.
My eyes lowered, drifting down his body. His dark blue Henley stretched taught across his chest with the sleeves pushed up mid-arm. There was no wonder why his arms had felt so strong around me. If I tried to wrap both my hands around his bicep, I wasn’t sure they would touch.
Muscular thighs strained against the material of his jeans and he finished off the look with black military-style boots that looked like they had to be a size thirteen, at least. At the inappropriate thought that jumped into my head about what else his shoe size might mean, I jerked my gaze back up guiltily. Damn, but this guy was potent. He’d just broken into my house and subdued me like it was nothing, yet here I was, checking him out and wondering about the size of his dick.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
“You don’t know me,” he began, stating the obvious. If I’d met him before, there was no way I’d be asking him who he was now. He wasn’t the type of guy a woman ever forgot. “But we have a friend in common. Serena Foster.”
The name didn’t ring any bells for me, but that wasn’t a huge surprise since I was horrible at remembering names. One thing I knew for certain, she wasn’t a close friend. I didn’t have many of those. So, either she was more of an acquaintance or he had the wrong house...and the wrong woman.
“Serena Foster?” I repeated the name.
“Shit,” he muttered before reaching into his pocket and yanking a cell phone out. I wasn’t sure why, but I sat there, waiting, instead of trying to get away while he was distracted. He swiped a finger across the screen, messed with it for a minute or so, and then turned the screen my way. “Yeah, this is her.”
I recognized her face as soon as I saw the photo. “I wouldn’t call her a friend. She came to a signing a couple months ago.”
“A signing?”
“I’m an author, she reads my books. We talked for a little bit, but those things are always so busy. We didn’t get the chance to chat for long,” I explained. “Why would you think we were friends?”
“I found the books at her place. Looks like I put two and two together and came up with five.”
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “Why didn’t you just ask her about me? Why break into my house like this?”
“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his steely gaze for a moment before locking his eyes with mine again. “Don’t freak out, but according to news reports, you died last night at the Hilton Downtown.”
My breath seized in my lungs at his words. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. It just didn’t make any sense. When I looked into his eyes, they seemed to be filled with honesty and determination. How was that possible? He had just broken into my home and was obviously off his rocker.
“Died?” I repeated dumbly. “Why in the world would anyone think I was dead? I haven’t even stayed at the Hilton in months.”
The next thing I knew, he pulled up a newspaper article and handed me his phone so I could read it. The headline jumped out at me: Local Author Found Murdered at Hilton Downtown. The story was brief, without a lot of details. Apparently, a member of the hotel staff had leaked the name of the guest since the police had been quoted as saying the investigation was ongoing and the victim’s identity hadn’t been confirmed. And there was no denying it was my name they’d leaked. A hysterical giggle bubbled up as I read the line a second time. Apparently, I had been wrong—he wasn’t the one off their rocker here, I was.
“The victim’s identity hasn’t been confirmed,” I whispered, hardly able to believe my own eyes.
“The police were here this afternoon, asking your neighbors questions. Odds are they were told you were away from home working on a book. Which c
ould fit with you being checked into a hotel,” he pointed out. “Right now, they don’t have any reason to think it’s not your body lying in the morgue.”
“And you think it was Serena, don’t you?” I asked disbelievingly. This whole situation was surreal—a perfect case of the truth being stranger than fiction. I couldn’t come up with a storyline like this if I tried.
“I do,” he confirmed. “She was in trouble and needed a safe place to stay. I think she checked into that hotel under your name last night.”
“But why would she pick my name to use?” I cried.
He looked down at his phone and flipped back to her photo. “My best guess is she was desperate and knew how much she looked like you.”
As crazy as it sounded, he could be right about that. “We joked about it,” I sighed. “When we took a photo of the two of us together, we both thought we could easily pass for sisters. I told her it would have been nice if it were true since I’m an only child and always wanted siblings. A big sister would have been perfect.”
“And that’s the only time the two of you met in person?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s why this whole thing is insane. I don’t even know her. I feel horrible that she might be dead, but I still don’t understand why you’re here. In my home. Uninvited,” I clipped out.
“She called me a few days ago, said she was in trouble and needed my help,” he started. I didn’t let him get very far, though.
“If she was in the kind of trouble where she needed a fake identity and ended up getting murdered, why didn’t she go to the police?” I asked. “What did she think you could do for her that they couldn’t do?”
“Serena and I grew up next door to each other. Our moms are still friends. No matter how blessed our lives, how charmed our existence, things still inevitably go wrong. She knew I was the kind of guy you called when that happened. When she had nowhere else to turn, she knew all she had to do was contact me and I’d come running.”
Identity Crisis Page 3