Identity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  When an opening in the traffic appeared, he gunned the engine and turned into the road she’d disappeared down. He didn’t find any sign of her on the street, but at the next intersection, he glimpsed the tail end of her pickup. Relieved, he reversed quickly and followed with more caution. No. Followed wasn’t the word. Guessed. He was playing some damn guessing game as to where she’d drive next.

  David strangled the steering wheel with frustration. What he wouldn’t do for a tracking device right now.

  When Skye turned into a street congested with traffic, he tailed her with more caution and overworked the engine, the gas pedal and brake by veering the Lexus behind a semi, a van, then an SUV.

  He raced through three more damn traffic lights and hit two crater-sized potholes before following Skye into a residential neighborhood. To ensure she didn’t spot him, David hung back and drove down a parallel street. After a minute, he backtracked and found she’d parked in front of a clay-tiled, one-story house, similar to all the others in the subdivision. Seeing no movement by the truck or house, he drove slowly down the street, rifled through the glove compartment for a pen and paper and scrawled down the address.

  As a white car crept past in the opposite lane, David debated about getting out and confronting Skye. Her secrets, the possibility of her influencing his life and future drove him nuts. His hands tightened against the wheel as he debated over the temptation to jump out after her and shake some answers from that delectable body of hers.

  He decided against it. The information he got from following her would be a hell of a lot more reliable than anything coming from her mouth if he dragged a response from her. Also, by the way she parked on the side of the street instead of the garage, he suspected she didn’t live there.

  He pulled to a stop on the next cross street where he hoped to hell only the car’s bumper and hood were visible from the house. He grabbed his roll of antacids and stuffed two in his mouth. Chewing, he stared down the street, waited and watched, while he kept the engine and air conditioner running.

  Over an hour behind the wheel, he sat with no entertainment other than a cat sauntering across the street. Then finally, movement. David jerked from his slumped position.

  Immediately, he recognized Skye by the fluid way she moved across the sidewalk to her car. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if she was upset, pleased, or bored.

  Who had she seen? And what had she talked about? Was it important or about him? Maybe she’d been hatching some scheme with the person inside. He rubbed his brow with the heel of his hand. He’d always been a bit of a game player, but never where he found himself the target.

  Then David wondered why the hell he was sitting in his car on a strange street, stalking a woman as if she were some criminal. Had he gone insane?

  But he hadn’t started this. She’d followed him. She wanted something. But what? Money? Revenge? Some weird sex game? Or blackmail?

  Despite the air conditioner, sweat broke out on his brow. Fear coated the inside of his mouth. If she knew the secrets behind his magic show and planned on blackmailing him, then— No. He pushed the supposition aside along with all his doubts and followed her truck onto the next street with more determination. Somehow he needed to get leverage against her.

  Thoughts of the roulette wheel, but more the image of the green creature twisted his gut. An alien for God’s sake. A nightmare he’d thought dead until Skye blasted into his life. Maybe there was a tie, but it all sounded too crazy.

  He shadowed Skye to another neighborhood where she parked in a large apartment complex. As he pulled into the lot after her, she disappeared down a sidewalk between two of the buildings.

  She’d acted completely unaware of him. Good. He might be getting better at tailing a person after all.

  He pulled into a spot beside a van, thoroughly shielding his car from the main entrance, got out and moved carefully in the direction he’d seen her go. From a distance, he watched her climb the stairs to the second floor and enter the apartment furthest to the left. He waited a few minutes, took a deep breath and headed that way.

  She couldn’t escape this time—unless she planned on jumping over a balcony.

  The apartment door opened and she and a boy stepped out onto the cement landing bordered by black wrought iron and walked toward the stairs.

  “Shit!” David hurried back to his car. Sweat and annoyance slid down his spine as the sun burned against his skin and through his shirt.

  So she hadn’t lied about having a son, which didn’t mean a thing. Just because someone had a child didn’t automatically make him or her a model citizen. But the idea of her being a mother made him think of her as vulnerable, something he’d never considered until now.

  Next, he followed her into the parking lot of the Pharaoh. What the hell? She couldn’t gamble with a boy in tow.

  David quickly discovered following by car was a whole hell-of-a-lot easier than by foot. Luck did help. Only mother and son entered the hotel’s elevator, so when it paused on eight, he knew they’d gotten off on that floor. He dashed up the stairwell to the eighth floor, pushing his body until a fine coat of sweat clung to his skin and his blood quickened his already pounding pulse.

  On the landing, he peered through the small rectangular window. Skye and the boy stood by a vending machine. Then as one, they turned in the opposite direction of the stairwell and walked down the hall. Several yards further, Skye used a room key. Then they both disappeared inside a room on the left.

  Finally.

  He’d wanted to catch her at her home. But a hotel room? And at The Pharaoh?

  Unease pressed in on him. He suspected the only reason why he knew of her existence now was that she wanted it that way, which made him wonder how long she’d been following him. Weeks? Longer? The entire time he’d started his show in Vegas?

  At their door, he knocked, waited, and stared at the peephole in the middle of the gold metal door. He didn’t get an answer. Somehow that didn’t surprise him.

  “It’s David Bishop. Open up.” He raised his voice. “It’s important.”

  When continued silence answered him from the other side, he knocked harder.

  “Skye. I don’t want to make a scene out here, but I will if you don’t show your face.”

  The door eased open. Skye muttered something to someone in the background—he suspected her son. Then she slipped outside, and closed the door behind her.

  Tension radiating from her slender body, she stared at him with narrowed, hazel eyes. “How did you find me?”

  “I followed you.”

  She swore under her breath. “I thought I lost— Are you alone?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Shifting, she glanced up and down the hall. “That’s my business.”

  “Well, I’m making it my business.”

  “I don’t think so.” She jammed a hand onto her hip. “Okay. You’ve got my attention. What is it you want?”

  “I want to know what sick little game you’re playing. Somehow you’ve included me in on it and I want none of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  David fisted his hands at his sides and forced down his growing anger.

  Defiance flashing in her eyes, she stood with a hip thrust out and a wide band of naked skin between her tight t-shirt and jeans. The hall’s lighting caressed her taut arms, flawless face and revealed a dusting of freckles on both.

  Suddenly, her sleek, tight body made him wonder how she’d look naked in bed and astride—

  Shit. She was too beautiful. This attraction he had for her was crazy, even dangerous when he didn’t know what motivated her. He didn’t like it and he didn’t want it.

  “Oh, come off it. You know exactly what I’m talking about with that parlor trick you pulled at the diner,” David insisted, dismayed at how much he sounded like his dad. “Are you trying to impress me with your little magic trick?”

  “Magic? Are you sure it’s magic?”


  David started to lift an arm to rub at the back of his neck but stopped himself, not wanting to reveal how much her words bothered him. “Magic, illusion, whatever you want to call the stunt. It can’t be anything else.”

  “I guess you’re entitled to your own opinion. But I think your show isn’t just magic. I think it’s much more than what you’ve made the public believe.”

  David stiffened. A breeze from the hall’s air conditioner caught against his damp shirt and chilled his skin, while a bead of sweat slithered down the seam of his spine from running up eight flights of stairs.

  By God. She knew.

  David fought against the panic tightening around his chest and throat. All this time, he’d wondered and worried why she’d singled him out. But how could she know his secret? Other than his father, no one knew how he did his show.

  “Are you talking blackmail? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “What if I am?”

  Her lifted brow and cool smile made him want to physically shake an answer from her. No way in hell would he let her ruin everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.

  A door opened down the hall. Frustrated at the interruption, David glared as a plump, silver-haired woman set a lunch tray on the floor then closed her door. “This isn’t the place.”

  “At least that’s something we both agree on. And you can forget my room. I’m not about to let my son witness anything you have to say.”

  He stepped toward her, felt the heat and hostility radiating from her and experienced the same boiling inside him. “Are you always this confident?”

  She stared back. “Always.”

  “Really? Or is it all bravado?”

  David took another step closer, pleased at how her eyes flared and that he sensed a sudden stillness settle around her. He reached over, lifted a strand of hair from her ponytail and let it glide through his fingers. With the back of his index finger, he then touched her cheek. She didn’t flinch, didn’t do one thing to give away what she was thinking.

  He wanted to rattle her composure, push her over the edge. He’d never felt this out of control, particularly when he was with a woman who seemed to be the embodiment of control.

  “You’re adopted, aren’t you?”

  What the hell? He jerked his hand back as if she’d landed a fist to his face. “What type of question is that?”

  “Are you?”

  David swallowed, struggling to meld his splintered thoughts. At the muffled thud of footsteps on carpet, he tensed and turned to find a middle-aged man with a floral shirt. He nodded and waited until the man disappeared into his hotel room three doors down, which gave him added time to compose his thoughts. “If you want to know that, meet me after my show in the hotel lobby.”

  “I can’t.”

  He arched a brow, not believing a word. Hell, he’d be crazy to.

  Skye flushed. “My son. I have a hard time getting someone to watch him in the evenings.”

  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slid out a gold-embossed card from inside. “Here’s my card with my address. I’ll be home Friday afternoon. I want to know what you’re after, and maybe if you give me enough answers, I’ll tell you if I’m adopted or not.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “No. Somewhere public isn’t going to work. They’ll be too many interruptions. And if you’re worried about being alone together, I promise you’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll even have my dad around if that’ll make you feel better.” When she still didn’t answer, he threatened, “You don’t want me showing up here on a regular basis. I don’t think your son would like that.”

  Her hazel eyes narrowed, and it appeared as if she were about to retaliate with some scathing retort, but instead, she nodded and took the card. “Fine.”

  But she didn’t look pleased. Tough. She was the one who started this. Yes, he’d used her son to get her to agree, something he wasn’t particularly proud of, but it had gotten results. He’d do it again if it meant ridding himself of her games.

  He backed away. “I’ll see you then, and don’t try backing out. I’ll track you down.”

  Her chin hitched up and her hand closed into a fist, crumpling his card within her grasp. “Watch your step. You might get hurt.”

  Something thudded to the floor. David looked at the doorway to the next room. A linen covered trolley filled with plates, silverware and leftovers rested against the wall. I large steak knife had fallen to the floor. It had landed only a foot from where he stood, its silver tip pointed directly at him.

  He jerked his gaze back to Skye. “Is that a threat?”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Not at all.”

  Suspecting her surprise an act, David nodded and backed away. He almost asked aloud if she’d moved the knife, but he was too afraid of her answer. And anyway, a question like that was liable to raise more than eyebrows.

  Before he turned and left, he noted her room number. He’d check with hotel security on Skye. His friend on staff owed him a favor, and David planned on taking him up on it.

  This time, he took the elevator down instead of the stairs. When he reached the parking lot and aisle to his Lexus, a white car raced past, missing him by a bare two feet. Tires shrieked against asphalt as it swung into the next aisle, spitting up dust and bits of rock. Exhaust fumes hit him in the face. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the car turn onto the street and vanish.

  Frowning, David opened his car door but paused. He stared at the street where the car had disappeared. The sedan looked similar to the one he’d seen by the house Skye had visited earlier in the day. But by the time he realized it, the vehicle was gone along with its license plate.

  ~~*~~

  Skye slumped against the closed door of the hotel room and inhaled a long, rattling breath. The air-conditioner clicked on and sent a faint breeze whispering against her flesh. She shuddered. Not from the room’s chill temperature. No. It came down to Bishop. The fierceness in his eyes, the menace in his size not only intimidated her but made her question what she was doing messing with a man like him.

  She should pat herself on the back for the way she’d held herself together in front of him. But because she’d ruthlessly reigned in her control, her legs now trembled like brittle cornstalks against a violent wind, while she swore a swarm of nasty flies whirled inside her stomach.

  Tyler slipped from the chair in the corner of the room and walked over to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Straightening, she met the concern in her son’s big, beautiful brown eyes and her chest tightened. She wished she could unwind the last two years, do things differently, be a hero in Tyler’s eyes, or at least someone he might come to respect later in his life. But she was none of those things.

  Maybe one day...

  She could always hope. She sighed. Hope. A four letter word. One that had kept her moving forward, acting on instinct, and fighting back with hunger and desperation. All for a future her son deeply deserved.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Skye blinked and stepped away from the door. Okay? No. She was frightened. With Bishop showing up at her door, others would soon follow. Men far more deadly than Bishop. But she couldn’t run like she’d done so many other times. At least not just yet. In Vegas, she needed a little more time. Bishop held too many clues to her past, though the man seemed clueless.

  With a gentle hand, she squeezed Tyler’s narrow shoulder. Maybe one day she’d also get some weight on his too frail frame. “I’m fine. I just had to talk to a very crabby man, that’s all, and I’m trying not to let him bother me.”

  “Oh. Is he, you know, bad?”

  Skye thought about lying. These last couple of years she’d been as truthful as possible to her son, while, at the same time, she’d tried to protect him from the worst. She realized now wasn’t the time to try something different. “I’m not sure. It’s too soon to tell.”

  Chapter 6

  Skye dreaded this meeting, or mo
re importantly, she dreaded what she would uncover.

  Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension locked around her muscles, she strode up the walkway to a red-tiled, one story home. Bougainvillea with their cascade of vivid pink flowers bracketed the window by the door, while the scent of hot, baked dirt drifted through the air.

  Pausing, Skye glanced down both sides of the street for signs of Bishop or any suspicious looking car or person. Heat shimmered off the concrete and into the air, crowding her from all sides. No one walked their dog, mowed their lawn or stepped from their home in this middle-class neighborhood. The only person crazy enough to be out in this heat was herself.

  The harsh shriek of a cicada pierced the silent afternoon. She flinched, then exhaled in a loud whoosh. Damn. One day she’d like to react like a normal person. Right now, though, nothing would shake off her growing anxiety.

  Last week, her ex-husband reminded Skye of her vulnerability, fueling an already urgent need to unearth this crazy mystery buried in her subconscious. Jay might be the only one who would think to link her to a character from Gilligan’s Island, but the people after her possessed their own resources and might trace her whereabouts. She would be a fool to think her assumed identity infallible.

  Skye jabbed the doorbell with a finger before she changed her mind. A moment later, Kathy Rodriguez, a tiny woman in jeans and a wispy blouse opened the door.

  “Thanks for letting me see you again,” Skye said, wrapping a hand around the strap of her purse. “Especially on such short notice.”

  “No problem.” Kathy ushered her in with a slender hand. The bangles on her wrist flashed silver and snapped against each other. “I hope we can do better this time.”

  “Well, it means a lot.” After Skye stepped inside the cool interior, the other woman closed the front door. “I’m hoping we can get through this block I seem to have on a part of my past. Bev did try.”

  Kathy laughed and shook her head. Short, dark brown hair cropped in jagged angles hugged an equally angular face, yet Kathy’s smile and light brown, almost golden eyes held a gentleness and warmth Skye found impossible to resist.