Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  Her gaze flickered from the coral snake to Holt’s face. Terror and uncertainty flashed in her eyes. She had to know he was here for her. He was going to protect her. To make sure she was safe. From snakes. Cartels. Didn’t matter. The desire to guard her had consumed him at the sound of her scream. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to shove it back down and bury it. Wasn’t sure he even wanted to. More than ever, he needed her committed trust.

  She held his gaze.

  “I won’t let anything hurt you. You have my word.”

  The snake reared higher. He had to catch it with its head in the air.

  Blair sucked her bottom lip inside her mouth, flicked her sight to the snake, then back to Holt. Her eyes slowly closed.

  If this wasn’t life or death, he’d have hurdled her bed and kissed her. He glanced at Gigi and nodded.

  Thumbnail in her mouth, she nodded back and closed her eyes, too. He’d kiss her, as well. But it’d be way more sisterly and on her cheek. They’d both given him their trust.

  Inhaling, he concentrated on the head of the snake as it rose higher...higher...strike mode.

  Now!

  He plunged onto the bed, bringing the opening of the trash bag over its head. It hissed and writhed in the plastic bag. “Gigi, open the tub!”

  She squealed and held the large container open while he tossed the bag inside, then placed the lid over it and locked the sides in place.

  Gigi jumped back against the wall and Blair collapsed into a heap on the rug by her bed. Holt slid to his knees, noticing for the first time she was wearing Christmas pajamas. Oh, this woman and what she did to him.

  He brushed her hair from her damp face. “You can open your eyes now,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

  She opened misty eyes and sniffed, a strangled sob erupting from her lips. Holt moved into a cross-legged position, lifted her into his lap and cradled her in his arms. She buried her face into his chest and he simply rocked back and forth as muffled cries dampened his T-shirt.

  “Who is doing this to me?” Blair pulled away from his shirt. Not a stitch of makeup, and there was no way this wasn’t the most beautiful woman on the planet.

  His rocketing pulse paralyzed him.

  He couldn’t give her the truth without breaking his cover.

  “I’m going to find out. That I promise.” Someone from the cartel must have gotten into the house while they were working in the barn. Which meant they knew the police had been here tonight and they were sending a message. A deadly one.

  “Thank you, Holt.” Blair touched his cheek. “I’d have been dead if you hadn’t come by. I guess you can scramble over in less than forty seconds.” A pitiful little smile crossed her face.

  He chuckled. “I was actually on your front porch. And I owe you a door.”

  “Why were you on my front porch?” She hadn’t seemed to notice that he still cradled her in his lap. Maybe she wouldn’t anytime soon.

  “I had the hankering for some popcorn and a chick flick.”

  “You’re lying. You were going to talk your way onto my couch.” A real grin appeared. “And I’m going to let you.”

  “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on talking so much as doing.” Her lips became his focus. “How are you holdin’ up, honey?” he whispered.

  A tidal wave of awareness ripped through the room.

  Would Blair accept it if he did kiss her? He probably shouldn’t, but he leaned forward until he was a hairbreadth away, felt her minty breath on his mouth.

  The stairs creaking jerked Blair’s attention from him and then she scrambled off his lap and put a couple of feet of distance between them. Gigi had left them alone in their moment and inadvertently ruined it. But then, he didn’t want an audience when he kissed Blair.

  When? No whens. He shouldn’t be kissing her period. She’d muddied his mind. His objective. Unearthing feelings in him he didn’t want to explore. Didn’t have time to explore.

  He stood. “I’m going to poke some holes in this tub. By now the snake’s out of the bag.”

  Blair cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Where will you take it? If we take the snake to Beckett, they might do something even worse. This could have been in Gigi’s bed! I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her.”

  “Then we won’t go to him.” Holt had no intentions of bringing in the local law enforcement. He needed to call his handler, confirm that the Juarez Cartel was in Hope and connected to Blair. Holt wasn’t sure if the connection was due to her ties to the Salvador Cartel, or if Jeremy’s snooping had led back to them and they’d caught wind of it somehow.

  Another thought punched his gut.

  The head of the Juarez Cartel was here. While he’d never been seen, he was known for killing his victims with the coral snake. Holt wasn’t sure if he’d come in to bring the deadly warning to Blair—or to kill her himself—or if he was hiding out in Hope.

  Clever, taking cover in a small town. No one would be scouring one-pony places looking for the face behind the Juarez Cartel. They’d been scouring major cities. Atlanta. Memphis. LA. Dallas. Even Mexico. Who could he be? How long had he been here, if he was indeed using Hope as his hiding spot? Before Blair? After Blair—and if after, was she the reason he came? To keep his enemy’s family member within his grasp. The shooting had to be about more than vendettas or her barn wouldn’t have been tossed. They were definitely hunting for something. But why place valuables in a rival cartel’s family member’s truck?

  Unless they wanted to frame her and they were retaliating because of a drug war. His mind swirled with scenarios and possibilities.

  Holt followed Blair downstairs with the tub in hand. Beckett Marsh stood examining the broken-down front door. He cast wary dark eyes on Blair. “Let me guess. Teenage mischief.”

  Blair’s face crumpled, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are you here, Beckett?”

  “Because I thought you might like to know that I chased a couple of men off from breaking into your store. See, I tend to like communication.” He raised an eyebrow, jaw set, as his eyes roamed the tub Holt carried. Maybe he’d think it held items from her barn.

  “Holt was helping me with some heavy storage boxes.”

  “So heavy they knocked your door off the hinges?” Beckett eyed Holt and the tub.

  “I did that,” Holt admitted. “We thought we were locked out.”

  Beckett massaged his brow and scrunched his face like a migraine had come on full force.

  Blair couldn’t keep this guy out in the cold much longer. Beckett Marsh wasn’t going to let her, and if Holt could clear him, he might let him in on what was going on. But warning bells rang in Holt’s ears. Why was Beckett Marsh out this late running around town? He was either investigating or lying.

  * * *

  It was Saturday and almost a week had passed since the snake attack and the attempted break-in at Blair’s store. Beckett had been breathing down her neck for answers. Answers she refused to give. Was he poking around on his own? If so, it wouldn’t be hard to find out about Blair’s past. That she’d been married to Mateo Salvador. If he knew, he was keeping it to himself. For now. The whole town might find out and the shame would be overwhelming. She’d have to move. Give up her business. She loved Hope and didn’t want to leave. Ever.

  Speaking of not leaving, Holt had spent every night on her couch, coming in late. On several days, he’d gone out of town hunting down wares for his store, and he let her know he’d seen Eric Hale, the private investigator. He was already moving on the case, but no news so far.

  Dad had called from Antigua and mentioned that Jeremy hadn’t been answering his calls, either. All Blair offered was that Jeremy hadn’t relapsed. She hoped it was true, but she didn’t want to worry Dad or bring him home to danger.
Staying on his trip was the safest place for him.

  The only time Blair felt any measure of safety was when Holt was in the house. Crazy how one man could do that—make her feel secure from evil drug lords. She touched her lips. He’d almost kissed her that night. She recognized the signs. Felt the chemistry between them. Blair didn’t believe Holt was a bad guy or connected to what was going on. He’d proven he could be trusted.

  But kissing him wouldn’t have been fair. Nothing about this was fair to Holt. She was willingly letting him risk his life for her, and every single day she felt guilty for it. Her life was in danger, and so was anyone close to her. That meant Holt. When this whole nightmare was over, then she could think about romance and falling in love. Now she had to think about keeping everyone she cared about safe—including him.

  But it was hard not thinking about Holt in a romantic way. In a short time, she’d come to long for him at the end of the day, sit on the back porch and unwind with a glass of lemonade and talk. She’d come to depend on him. He’d fixed her front door and taken her box truck into Memphis to have the bullet holes fixed. They’d shared meals at the Black-Eyed Pea, since neither of them had much skill in the kitchen. Except omelets. Holt could make a fantastic omelet, but she liked when she woke first and tiptoed downstairs to peek in on him sleeping soundly on her sofa.

  Hair the color of and as soft as raven feathers hanging in his eyes. The I-need-a-haircut look suited him perfectly. She’d been tempted on more than one occasion to press her finger into the cleft of his chin while he slept. Instead, she’d made coffee and opened up a bag of muffins because she couldn’t bake, either.

  She could make a mean pot of coffee, though. But right now she’d let someone else make her a cup. She parked across the street from Sufficient Grounds and walked over. Before she even entered, French roast wafted into her nose. The morning had started early for her and Holt today. They could both use some caffeine.

  A local high school girl worked the counter, taking coffee and pastry orders. Owner Aurora Daniels sat at a table by the window with her laptop open, a coffee beside it, perusing what looked to be online documents. She glanced up and gave Blair a watered-down smile. That woman was a mystery.

  “Sophia, your order’s up.”

  Sophia Menendez popped out from a corner by a plant, bright eyes, long lashes. “Hey, Blair. How are you? I heard about your accident.”

  Which one?

  “I wrecked Manny’s work truck this past winter on Farley Pass. Iced over. Scared me half to death.” She took her coffees. “Glad you’re okay.”

  And Blair was glad the town still thought she simply lost control of the big truck. She nodded. “Me, too. Riella offered me your enchiladas. Twice, actually.”

  “My abuela made the best enchiladas, but I lost her when I was only twelve. So anytime. Gives me another reason to think about all the good memories.”

  “I miss my grandmother, too. At least she got to see me graduate high school before she passed. I’m glad you have fond memories, but I hope I don’t have any more accidents that might warrant the hospitality.”

  “I hope not, too.” Sophia waved. “Manny’s back. Gotta go.”

  Blair waved at her Don Juan brother. She’d had Don Juan once. Never again. Stepping up to the counter, she gave her order and then headed for Holt’s store. His back was to her as he talked on the phone.

  “Right. I am...I’m well aware...The lake?...I’ll check it out this after—” He turned and spotted Blair. “I gotta go.”

  Blair got that funny feeling she’d had around Mateo on occasions when he’d been hiding something.

  No, just paranoia. Holt wasn’t anything like Mateo. He wouldn’t keep secrets.

  She held up the coffee and managed a smile.

  “I appreciate it. Thanks.” He hung up.

  “No problem at all.”

  Holt smiled, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with her. “Like I said, you’re the best person on the whole planet.”

  “What do you need to check out at the lake?” She set his cup on the counter as he kneaded his neck muscles. “And what are you well aware of?”

  He finally looked at her. “That I need to be familiar with the lake. Tourists and all, so I’m going to check it out.”

  He never shifted his sight. He wouldn’t lie. Blair’s stomach churned with warning, though. “That’s true. They might ask for the best fishing spots. I’ll go with you. I’m familiar with the area.”

  “Great. I don’t want to get lost.” He smiled, but Blair thought she caught a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

  Holt placed a tackle box on the shelf behind the counter.

  “Any recent news from your PI guy?” Blair asked.

  Holt’s eyes held sympathy. “Jeremy hasn’t been home or seen at work. He hasn’t called or picked up a paycheck.”

  Blair’s hope deflated. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

  Holt rubbed her shoulder. “Let’s not think the worst.”

  “What about the friend? Has this Eric guy been able to find out who Jeremy’s trusted friend was?” If they could find him, he might know something or at least give them a lead.

  Holt’s eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn’t quite grasp. “The best guess was it was a guy who helped him with rehab. He was a mentor and maybe he even accompanied him to some Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Jeremy hasn’t been to any recently. The last one was...was three weeks ago. According to reputable sources, Jeremy was clean. He was doing well and trying to make up for some past mistakes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as if it pained him to reveal these things.

  “If this friend was so upstanding and good, why keep him a secret?” Blair couldn’t figure that out.

  Holt toyed with the yellow stopper in his coffee cup lid. “I’m sure he had really solid reasons.” He let out a breath. “He talked about you. I mean, from what the PI found out.”

  “He did?” Jeremy was a private guy. Never expressed himself well. Much like Dad. So unlike Mom. “Did...did he say what was said?”

  Holt’s jaw pulsed. “He said you never gave up on him. Even when you’d been going through your own troubles, you called him. Checked in on him. Made sure he had food in his fridge when you came up for visits.”

  Blair’s throat constricted. “That’s so nice.”

  “Apparently, he called you a Good Samaritan. Said while he should have been taking care of you, you were taking care of everyone else. He knows you love him.” Holt’s voice had turned husky. He tossed his stopper in the trash and raked a hand through his hair.

  Speaking of a tortured soul, right now Holt appeared to be one, too. Maybe he was thinking about Trina. Losing her. Blair pushed back the threatening tears. Knowing Jeremy fully understood how much she loved him was a comfort.

  Knowing he loved her and had spoken about her meant the world. Now if she could only tell him out loud how much she loved him. She was losing hope.

  Holt slapped the counter with his palm. “You know what? Let’s hit the lake now. Sooner is better, right?”

  “You want to explore Hope Lake now?”

  “Yes, I do. We can pack a picnic basket, and since we both know you can’t cook, you can go by the Black-Eyed Pea. Better yet, I’ll go by there.” The corner of his mouth tipped up.

  Blair melted like custard on a hot day. If he was offering picnics, he couldn’t have been hiding something. Her paranoia evaporated. “You want to turn this lake exploration into a picnic? That will eat up most of the day. You sure?”

  “I’m sure. I want to have a picnic. And I want to go with you. I’ll hook that johnboat on my trailer and we can be out there in an hour. What do you say?”

  “Are you for real?”

  “Blair, Eric is doing everything he can. If anyone can find Jeremy, it’s him. When
he has a lead, he’ll call me. Are we going to let whoever’s after you rule your life? Let’s go live a little. Just for a while.”

  A lake day. The weather was in the mideighties and breezy. A rarity in June. “Okay, and I’ll go get the picnic supplies and pretend you didn’t tell me I couldn’t cook.”

  Holt brushed her hair off her face and gave her an odd expression that sent ripples through her stomach. “Okay, but no gazing on flawless faces while you’re in there. And order me two sandwiches. I’ll be starving.”

  Blair nodded because she flat-out couldn’t speak. She headed out the door, popped in to tell Gigi she had to man the store the rest of the day and then she waltzed down the street to grab their food.

  A sudden cold chill swept from her lower back to her neck. Pausing, she glanced around. The town was full of tourists, locals out shopping and passing a Saturday away.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her.

  SEVEN

  Holt was going to need a bell on his door, too. Blair had overheard him talking to his handler at the DEA. Apparently, Bryan Livingston had been lying low at a cabin near Hope Lake. Holt hadn’t had a chance to skulk around out there yet.

  Now he’d have to do it with Blair by his side. Suspicion had been written all over her face. What if she would have asked who he’d been talking to? The lying was becoming harder with each moment. He’d been trying to separate his personal feelings from professional, but he was failing.

  Every day, he found himself caring more for Blair.

  As they launched the boat out into water, Holt realized that Hope Lake was anything but small. He counted about a dozen boats, some full of fishermen and others carrying teenagers passing a lazy day away. A few families were grilling on pontoon boats. Holt inhaled the fishy air, the aroma of burgers and hotdogs and sunshine. The breeze off the lake was perfection. And there was just enough heat to make him want to take a nap as the boat lulled along the green waters.