Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  Gigi turned in his direction and moaned. “Naturally, the guy with the eyes would see me ralph.”

  Holt chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, you did it gracefully.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  Blair smirked, then sobered. “I want to get out of here.” She looked at Holt. “Blair. Sullivan. And this is my sister—”

  “Gigi. Yeah I got that. Seems you might need a little medical attention.” He pointed to her head.

  She touched it and sighed. “It’s not that bad. Thank you for checking on us.”

  Not that Holt came to their aid to get close to Blair, but he did hope it might be an open door to gain her confidence. Whether she was involved with the cartel or not, Blair could be the key to helping him find Jeremy and Bryan. And time was not on his side.

  “What happened? Who were those crazies?” Gigi took the water bottle Blair gave her and swished some water in her mouth before spitting it out and climbing back inside the truck.

  “Yeah, who were those crazies?” Holt asked, frowning. Blair had no business driving after knocking her head like that.

  Blair shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around in case they decide to come back and introduce themselves. Thanks again for your help.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mr. Hollywood.” Gigi smiled and then winced.

  “It’s Holt, in case the head injury has you confused.” With all the acting he was about to do, Hollywood fit much better than Superman.

  Blair leaned out her driver’s-side window. She looked too petite to be driving this bulky thing. But clearly, the woman was strong. And brave. “Had you not shown up when you did, I don’t know what would have happened. You must have scared them off.”

  Holt studied her, searching her eyes for answers to what might have actually gone wrong. Nothing there but terror and confusion. “I guess I did.” It took squeezing off a few rounds himself. Relieved Blair didn’t realize he’d used his weapon, he relaxed his shoulders. “You sure you’re okay to drive? I can give you a lift to the hospital, and we can come back for your truck later.”

  Blair’s face blanched.

  Did she not plan on seeking medical attention? Not if she didn’t want questions raised.

  “I can manage,” Blair finally said. “Besides, my stuff’s in the back and I’m not leaving it.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll be fine.”

  Holt couldn’t blame Blair for being suspicious of him, but he’d have to remedy it. Quick. If saving her life didn’t get him in her good graces, he wasn’t sure what would. Charm? He could lay that on pretty thick when necessary, but something about the way she’d carried herself and avoided eye contact with him at the storage auction said charm wasn’t the way to go to win her trust.

  Honesty might be the ticket. But that was one thing he couldn’t give. Came with the territory. “You sure?”

  “Positive. Thanks again.” That was her polite Southern belle dismissal.

  “Okay.” He ambled toward his truck with no intention of letting them out of his sight. Blair cranked the engine and it sputtered to life. She pulled through the tall grass and back onto the road from the shallow ditch. Holt followed at a distance, hoping not to further scare them, but this was the only way into town, and he wanted to make sure they were safe.

  As he suspected, they went straight to their home. No medical attention. He clambered out of his truck.

  “Why are you following us?” Blair demanded.

  He held his hands up in surrender. “You took a whack to the head. Just wanted to make sure you got safely home.”

  “Well, we did.”

  Holt turned to Gigi, who was tottering out of the truck. He rushed to help her. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got hit by a truck.”

  Holt winked. “Imagine that. Are you not going to the hospital? You really should.”

  Blair came around and slipped in between Holt and Gigi, creating a protective barrier. “I can take it from here.” She shifted her eyes toward Gigi and studied her sister’s face, as if she were in a battle about whether she should go or not.

  “I feel woozy, Blair.”

  Blair sighed. “We’ll go see Doc Drummond.”

  Ah. The local doctor. “What about the police?” he asked. Didn’t matter to him as much as them receiving some medical care. Better if she didn’t call the police. They’d only get in his way. Besides, based on the homework he’d done on the town, the sheriff was recovering at home from a stroke and the deputy chief was in charge. He was only a year younger than Holt’s thirty-two years. Probably didn’t know diddly-squat. This town barely had two thousand residents. Biggest crime might be cow tipping.

  Then again, Alejandro Gonzalez had been spotted here by Agent Livingston, so who knew what was going on? A place like this wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar. Could Alejandro have been meeting the head of the Juarez Cartel? No one had ever seen his face before. Which meant he could be hiding right under their noses.

  Did Blair know who he was? Was that why she’d moved here after her husband had been gunned down by the Juarez Cartel? Had she been in on Mateo’s execution? Or had the head of the snake moved here to lie in wait and strike at Blair as a move against her former brother-in-law, Hector Salvador?

  Too many questions clogging the wheel. Holt inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on the here and now.

  “I’ll call the police once I get my sister to Doc Drummond’s.” Her tone didn’t sound convincing, and her eyes shifted before she looked away. Nope. She wasn’t calling anyone. Seemed odd for someone innocent. “Let me drive you. I know you managed to drive home, but neither of you seem to be in any shape to be behind a wheel.” It killed Holt to see a hurting woman. A stray thought of his high school love crashed into his mind. She’d hurt for so long before the cancer took her, ruining all their dreams for a future together.

  But he didn’t want to think about it. Thinking meant feeling. And Holt didn’t want to feel. Not even right now while looking at the lovely Blair Sullivan. He was feeling something. Something he shouldn’t. She was an assignment. That was all.

  Blair gnawed her bottom lip. “I think we’ll be okay.”

  Gigi was already walking toward his truck. “Do you know where Doc Drummond’s office is?”

  “I just moved here, but it’s a small town. In fact, it appears you and I are neighbors. I rented the McCowens’ house across the street.”

  “Cool.” Gigi climbed inside the Ford F-150 he was using as his cover vehicle. “You have a head injury, Blair. I don’t want to wreck for the second time today. So get in.”

  Blair hesitated and chewed on her thumbnail as if considering the offer. “So you live across the street.” She eyed him. “What brings you to Hope?”

  “I’m opening up a used outdoorsman store. Kind of a dream of mine. That’s why I was at the auction today. Trying to stock the place.” And the lies continued. Worst part of his job—especially if he was lying to someone innocent. He wasn’t sure she was, but he wanted her to be.

  Blair scowled at Gigi, who had taken up homestead in his truck. “And where is your business?”

  Okay, this might be a little too coincidental, but he’d make it work. “Only place I could find for the right price. I leased a building on the square. Right by what appears to be your shop.” He pointed to her bulky box truck. The side was painted with a huge Christmas tree, and the name of her business was scrolled in red: It’s A Wonderful Life Antiques. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, neighbor.”

  Blair didn’t budge. She wasn’t buying it. The woman was tough. Smart. If she wasn’t a person of interest professionally, he’d admit she was definitely someone he’d like to get to know personally. But nothing serious. Holt’s heart couldn’t afford to do serious.

  “Don’t worry, I wo
n’t come knocking for a cup of sugar. I don’t bake.” If Holt could put her at ease, lower her guard, he could get close. At this rate, he wasn’t getting nearer than arm’s length, and that wasn’t good enough.

  “Neither does she,” Gigi called from the cab of the truck. “My head hurts. Let’s go.”

  Blair stepped forward and froze. “My gun! Where’s my gun?”

  “I have it. You weren’t exactly thinking clearly back there.”

  “I’d like it back before I go anywhere with you.” Her tone was laced with suspicion, caution.

  Holt slipped it from his waistband and handed it to her. “What are you doing carrying a gun?”

  “Why does anyone carry a gun? And I live in the South.” She grabbed her purse from her truck, tucked her gun inside, locked the doors and slowly made her way to his truck. He hoped she had a license to carry a concealed weapon. “Gigi, get out. I’ll take the middle.”

  Safeguarding her little sister from the mysterious and probably—in Blair’s eyes—dangerous man. Something about her fierce protectiveness unraveled a cord he’d kept a tight rein over.

  No doubt, this woman would sacrifice herself for her family. Whether she was the good guy or the bad. But which was she?

  * * *

  Blair sat next to Holt in Doc Drummond’s office, staring through the gold lettering painted across the large picture window announcing that this was indeed a doctor’s office. The heat filtering through the pane warmed her face.

  “You doing all right?” Holt asked. He hadn’t budged since they entered. This man didn’t even know them. Why would he stick around like this?

  “What do you think?” She hadn’t meant the question to come with a sting. “Sorry.” Blair lightly touched the bandaged area of her head where she’d hit it against the steering wheel. Thankfully, her hair covered it. She didn’t need the town asking a bunch of questions, although news traveled at warp speed, so they’d know about the wreck. Not the bullets, though. And she preferred to keep it that way.

  Doc Drummond had bought her quick story, which wasn’t a lie, of losing control of the wheel and running off Farley Pass. She probably should have come here in the first place, but she’d been rattled and frightened. She’d wanted to get home. Safe.

  Down the cobbled streets, neighbors bounced in and out of shops. Kids licked dripping ice-cream cones; friends laughed and peeked inside each other’s shopping bags. Vehicles lined the area in front of the regal courthouse.

  Felicity Potts, the owner of Read It and Steep Bookstore and Tea Company, was sweeping the welcome mat. Blair caught her eye and she waved.

  Blair waved back.

  “Tea shop. How about I go over there and get a cup for you?” Holt asked.

  Blair tried to see past Holt’s good looks to the kindness he showed. Was it real? When it came to men, her judgment stank. Mateo had proven that. “Are you going to get some for yourself, too?”

  “Yeah, I don’t do tea.”

  Blair smirked; couldn’t help it. “Chamomile.” She reached into her purse. “Let me get you some cash.”

  He laid a hand over hers. “I got it. Be back in a minute.”

  “Thank you. For the fourth time.”

  “Five if you want to thank me for the drive over.” He swept his dark hair out of his eyes and left, jogging across the street.

  Blair loved Felicity’s tea. She loved this town. Barely any crime. But today someone had tried to kill Blair and Gigi. Guilt wound her shoulders tight and drummed in her neck. She’d brought a can of worms to Hope. Somehow. Holt had asked her if she was going to call the police. It had almost sounded like he was testing her. Could the man buying her a chamomile tea be behind the attack? His popping up seemed awfully suspicious, but he’d done nothing but help and be friendly.

  Mateo had been friendly, too. Charming. Sweet. Fun. Look where that had gotten her.

  She leaned her head against the glass and closed her eyes.

  The door opened and a blast of heat sucked the cool air from the waiting area. “Blair Sullivan. What in the world happened to your head?”

  Blair didn’t need to look up to know who was standing over her. The familiar sugary scent permeated the room as her voice tinkled. Riella Drummond. Doc’s wife. “G and I had a car accident on the way home from the auction today.” Blair opened her eyes to the most-well-put-together woman she’d ever seen. Hair worthy of shampoo commercials and naturally bronzed skin.

  Riella sat next to her and laid her purse on a table filled with up-to-date magazines. “Do you need anything? I can have Sophia bring dinner over.”

  Sophia, Riella’s housekeeper, made a mean enchilada dish, but Blair didn’t feel right about taking something for nothing, especially when nobody was dying. “No need for all the fuss. We’ll grab a bite at the Black-Eyed Pea if G feels up to it.”

  “Ah. Well, I just came to bring my man something to eat. He missed lunch. You sure you don’t want anything? I have plenty.”

  Blair inhaled the tangy scent of Italian food. She must have stopped in at Mangiare. Another reason Blair adored this town—the wide variety of ethnic groups represented here. And the variety of food choices because of it. It really was a wonderful life.

  Until today.

  “No, really. I’m fine and Gigi will need to get home soon anyway. She’ll probably want to lie down.”

  Riella glanced outside. “You met the man who leased the store next to yours yet?”

  Holt Renard. “I did. He gave us a lift, but I don’t really know much about him.” Not nearly enough to feel comfortable. And with the way he’d sent her pulse skittering at the auction, she couldn’t get to know him. “He’s opening an outdoorsman store.”

  Riella’s eyebrow lifted. “Speaking of...”

  Holt made an entrance and handed Blair her tea.

  Riella introduced herself and chitchatted with Holt while Blair sipped her chamomile tea and fretted. She hoped he wouldn’t blab to Riella about the circumstances surrounding the wreck. But Blair couldn’t tell him not to, either. She’d instructed Gigi to keep mum before she saw Doc. She’d have to do some explaining when she got her alone. She’d never wanted Gigi to know how stupid and naive she’d been to fall in with Mateo and his crowd. No way around it now.

  “Well, on behalf of Hope, welcome. I’ll have Sophia whip you up a welcome meal.”

  Riella didn’t mind offering meals to everyone and anyone. She never had to cook them.

  Doc Drummond led Gigi into the waiting area. “No concussion, but watch her anyway. She can take Motrin for the pain. Wake her up every thirty minutes to an hour just in case, and she’ll be right as rain.” He flashed a grin at his wife. “I smell a meatball sub.”

  Riella raised a red-and-green bag. “You’re welcome.” She kissed his cheek. Blair hooked her arm around Gigi’s. “Thanks, Doc. We appreciate your help.”

  “Be more careful next time, Blair. That beast of a truck is a lot to handle.” Doc Drummond winked. “Nice meeting you, Holt. I’ll have to swing by and check out the store when it’s up and running.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Doc escorted his wife to the offices. Holt held the door while Blair and Gigi stepped outside underneath the white-and-yellow awning. Even with the shade, it felt like they were charging toward a fire-breathing dragon. Blair looked at Holt. “Can I have a couple of minutes alone with my sister?”

  “Sure.” Holt paused, then meandered down the sidewalk out of earshot.

  Blair turned to Gigi. “I guess you kept quiet about what really happened.”

  “You told me not to say a word, so I listened. I’m not sure what did happen. Are you?”

  “Let’s talk about it later. Are you hungry?” Blair studied Gigi. Her color had come back, but her eyes looked tired. And scared.

 
; “I feel like talking about it now. Why do you carry a gun that I don’t know about, and who on this green earth would try to kill us, and why do I have to keep my mouth shut?”

  As far as Gigi knew, Mateo Salvador died in South America, gunned down by guerillas. Which wasn’t far from the truth. He had been gunned down. But she wasn’t exactly sure by whom, other than a rival drug cartel aiming to take down Hector.

  Blair glanced around. Out here where anyone could listen wasn’t the best place. “We will talk. At home. And I carry a gun for protection like a lot of people.”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  For Gigi’s own good. To protect her.

  “We should call the police, Blair.” Gigi gnawed her bottom lip. “I’m freaking out.”

  Maybe she should call them. Chief Deputy Beckett Marsh might be able to help. But then she’d have to reveal her past. Somehow it would leak and the town wouldn’t see her as Blair Sullivan, business owner and honorable neighbor. She’d become Blair Sullivan, former wife of a drug lord who could potentially put friends and family in jeopardy.

  Blair rubbed her hands together. “You don’t need to be afraid. Trust me.”

  “Who was in that SUV?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” But she had a terrifying feeling they would be back.

  Gigi grabbed Blair’s shoulders. “You think this involves Jeremy? Are you scared of getting him in hot water with the cops?”

  Blair’s knees buckled. She hadn’t once thought it might concern her brother. But that might be the reason he wasn’t answering calls and texts, or hadn’t been by to see them in a few days.

  Gigi led her to one of the many benches that lined the sidewalks. Blair collapsed on one, averting her eyes from the colorful wooden box of impatiens that sat directly under the black lamppost.

  “Maybe we should call Dad,” Gigi said.

  No. Drug cartels were ruthless. Until she knew what she was dealing with, the fewer people involved, the better. “And ruin his Caribbean cruise when we don’t really know anything? Let’s not worry Dad until we have to.”