Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  But sleeping while Blair perched beside him? Never gonna happen. Maybe after a while on the lake he could interest her in a hike through the woods, and while she enjoyed nature, Holt would hunt for clues, and by clues, he meant Bryan’s body. A sinking sensation flooded his gut.

  Blair reclined at the front of the boat, letting her fingers skim the water. Her long, dark hair hung over her face, the sun bringing out its golden highlights. Sun-kissed skin, long legs and a heart that was twice as big as this lake. A heart that had finally given Holt its trust.

  And with every lie he told, he was crushing it. Could she ever forgive him if she did find out the truth?

  Every day this week, as he built his fake business, his imagination had run wild and he almost believed this was his life. It was supposed to have been. Before Trina died and his world and future crumbled. He’d shoved the pain, his faith and all thoughts of God down deep, but out here on the water with the pine trees and blue skies, he couldn’t forget there was a God. He couldn’t forget all the wonderful experiences he’d had in his early teens when his faith was strong.

  Now that things were shifting in his heart, those feelings, along with the painful ones, were surfacing. Holt had made his choice. Chosen a career that kept him in the line of fire, kept him taking risks and pulled him away for long periods of time. No time to think about finding someone new. But here. Now. It was like those dreams were resurrecting. Like hope was wiggling its way out of the coffin Holt had nailed shut when he was eighteen.

  “I can’t see your eyes under those tinted glasses. What are you thinking?” Blair asked.

  “I was thinking this is the most perfect day I’ve had in a long time. I’m glad we did this.” Holt kicked his feet up and rested his hands on the back of his neck. “How about you?”

  “I was wondering why you aren’t already in a relationship.”

  Blair had been honest with him about Mateo. Since he’d been bunking on her couch, she’d opened up even more about her past. Holt owed her, and...and he wanted her to know him. Who Holt McKnight was. He dropped his feet and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I thought I was going to marry Trina—my high school sweetheart. Settle down. Have a brood of kids. But she died of cancer our senior year.”

  “I’m so sorry, Holt.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked about her. Until you. Is that weird?”

  Blair squeezed his hand. “I hope it means you feel comfortable. I’d like to hear about her. If you want to talk.”

  He’d been so bent on keeping Blair safe it didn’t cross his mind that she could make him feel safe, too. But she did. How strange. And wonderful. “People thought she was outgoing and a social butterfly because she was a cheerleader, but she was actually shy. Her mom pressed her to cheer. She never liked it and always had a panic attack before games. That’s how we got to be friends. I found her wigging out behind the concession stand before lineup.”

  Blair chuckled. “Sounds like the start to a romantic young adult novel.”

  “It was. I mean, I guess. I don’t read many books.”

  “Love at first sight, huh?”

  Holt relaxed, laughed even. He hadn’t been able to share memories about Trina, let alone laugh about them in...ever. “No. I thought she was cute but it wasn’t a knock-my-breath-away kind of love affair. I started helping her with the panic attacks and then tutored her in math.”

  “You were the smart guy.”

  “I was the fullback on the football team. And smart. Are you stereotyping me?”

  Blair reached into the picnic basket and handed Holt a ham and cheese on wheat. They spent the next hour floating along the lake, eating and sharing memories. Unpacking the past released a weight from Holt’s chest. Blair listened intently, asked questions and never judged.

  “Thank you for sharing Trina with me. I’ve learned a lot about you. Not every young boy would stick by a sick girl’s side.”

  “I thought God would heal her. Told her that every day. Up until the very end. He didn’t.” Holt wadded his napkin in his hand. He’d been told that God had a bigger plan. Blah, blah, blah. Still hadn’t made him feel any better.

  “Would you be interested in going to church with me tomorrow?” she asked over a piece of peach cobbler.

  He nearly choked on a peach slice. Church? He hadn’t been in the house of God in years. The thought of church with Blair didn’t turn his stomach, it just shocked him. Would God even care if he came to church? The talk of his past sent a wave of loneliness through him. He missed God. Missed the old friendship Holt had severed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  She nodded and placed their empty containers and trash in the picnic basket. He studied the way she moved. Everything about her was seasoned with grace and gentleness. She stirred his insides.

  Closing the basket, she sat beside him, her sweet scent drawing him toward her, like a tiny bread crumb he needed to follow. “I guess you never get over the one true love of your life.”

  Holt hadn’t thought he would ever get over Trina. He’d never allowed himself to. But lately...since coming to Hope...

  Clasping Blair’s delicate wrist, he drew her to him, then slid his sunglasses onto his head. “You don’t forget them, but I think you do get to move on. And I’m not sure you only get one true love. That seems cruel.”

  Blair licked her bottom lip. “That does. I don’t think God’s cruel.”

  Holt wasn’t so sure he still thought God was cruel, either. Not when He’d created something as unique and wonderful as Blair. He studied her face, trying to memorize every feature.

  “No,” he whispered. “Blair...” He threaded his hand into her silky hair and guided her lips to his.

  A crack sounded above his head; bark splintered on a tree near the cove they’d been floating in.

  “Get down!” Holt hollered, and dove for his tackle box, grabbing his gun.

  Another shot fired and clipped the trolling motor. No way they could paddle faster than a bullet.

  “Tell me you can swim, Blair.” Holt shielded her with his body, too afraid to fire back. What if he hit a bystander hiking in the woods? Thankfully, the area they were in at the moment was secluded and set along a bank that led into dense woods all around.

  “I can.”

  “Great. Go. Over the side and swim for the shore. I’m right behind you.” Not exactly the way he wanted to go on an investigative hike. Holt helped her scramble over the side with a splash. “Keep swimming. Don’t look back.”

  Bullets sprayed the water near the boat. Holt had no choice. He fired in the direction the shot came from and dove into the water, keeping his gun from getting wet. Maybe the returned fire would buy them time to get into the shelter of the woods.

  Holt pumped his one arm, swimming backward. Good thing he had a cousin who’d kept him competitive in swimming. He was no Bryn, but he could hold his own in the water. He fired another shot, trying to conserve his bullets in case he needed more in the minutes to come.

  Blair was almost to shore when she grunted and yelped. “I’m—I’m stuck! My foot’s twisted in roots or something.”

  Holt tossed his gun to shore and went under to untangle Blair’s foot. Something had her bound. He couldn’t see well in the murky water. He came up, grabbed a breath and went back under.

  Blair screamed again. Another round of shots must have been fired. She came under the water with him and they worked together to unlatch whatever had her tangled.

  Holt pulled with everything he had in him. Rope gave way and Blair’s foot released. He motioned for her to go, to swim on to freedom. She nodded and then her eyes widened and her mouth opened. Bubbles sprayed out with her gurgled wail.

  Please don’t let it be another snake.

  Lungs burning, Holt turned and jerked backward.
>
  Agent Bryan Livingston.

  Holt held in his own scream at seeing the bloated body weighted down by concrete and rope, the same rope that had snared Blair. His stomach turned. He pointed for her to get out of there, then gave her a shove to shake her out of the shock.

  He came up for air as another bullet hit the water near the log by his head. Blair reached for him. “Come on! Hurry.” She’d made it to waist-deep water and was crouching behind a fallen tree.

  Holt couldn’t leave Bryan like that. He had to do something.

  Another shot.

  There was nothing he could do for his friend. But he could save Blair. He’d promised. He made it to her, snatched his gun and covered her. “Run! For the trees! Go!”

  Blair sprinted through the forest, twigs cracking underneath her bare feet. She must have lost her flip-flops in the water. Her feet were going to be cut up. If he could carry her and not get her killed he would.

  Another crack sounded.

  Fire split through Holt’s shoulder.

  He’d been hit.

  * * *

  Blair raced through the trees, branches reaching out like claws scratching her arms. She jumped logs and ignored the stinging on the bottom of her feet. They had to get to safety. Who was that floating in the water? Instinct told her whoever was after Blair had put him there. And by the looks of it, he’d been there awhile. Blair’s stomach roiled and she tried to shove the image from her mind. Keep running. Just run. Lord, help us!

  Holt grunted and Blair pivoted. Blood seeped down his left shoulder. “You’ve been shot!” She flew to him, but he shook his head. “Go! I’m fine. Keep running. I’m right behind you. Promise.”

  Blair hesitated but continued on. If her direction was right they’d end up on Mitch Rydell’s property and near his stables. She only hoped whoever was out there didn’t have a keen sense of direction. Heart thumping in her chest, she glanced back. Holt was right behind her, gun in hand, scanning the woods as he went.

  Protecting her.

  No one was protecting him.

  It hit her like an anvil.

  The shots had pelted above his head. Where he was located in the water.

  They’d hit him.

  They weren’t aiming for Blair. They were targeting Holt. Making good on their threat and coming after the people Blair cared about. Whether she liked it or not, Holt was on that list, rising to the top with every conversation. He’d opened up about his painful past. If that wasn’t honesty, what was?

  He’d almost kissed her. Again.

  She darted left.

  Someone fired and bark from a tree exploded above Holt’s head.

  “Keep going, Blair.” He fired a shot in the direction of the assailant.

  In the distance, Mitch’s stables came into view. Shelter. But first she’d have to make it through the clearing. About fifty feet. Surely, someone wouldn’t shoot in the open like that. But the attackers knew the police were now involved—except they weren’t really—and they might feel like they had nothing to lose.

  Blair whispered a prayer for safety for her and Holt and urged her legs farther and faster, her calves burning and her feet nearly coming out from under her.

  Holt was right on her heels.

  A stable hand stepped into Blair’s line of sight and she flagged him down, praying they were in the clear.

  He hollered and another man, and Mitch, came out of the stables.

  “Mitch! Call Doc Drummond. Holt’s been shot,” Blair hollered.

  The man with Mitch grabbed his phone. Mitch ran to Blair and Holt, his hat flying off in the breeze. “How did this happen?”

  Holt skidded to a stop next to Blair, his clothes soaking wet and blood streaking down his arm. He raised his shirtsleeve. “I think...I think maybe some kids were goofing off in the woods. Just a graze.”

  “We’re back to kids and pranks?” Mitch grunted. “Come on in the house and we’ll wait for Doc to get here.”

  Blair had never been inside Mitch’s home, only his stables. A big brick two-story with a wraparound porch. A large kitchen full of windows giving him an incredible view of rolling pastures and his horses. Everything was stainless steel, hardwood and tasteful but masculine. She and Holt dripped on his tiled floor. “Have a seat. I’ll get ya’ll a glass of water and towels.” He disappeared from the kitchen. Holt slumped in a chair, his free hand holding his head. Seeing that body must have done a number on him, too.

  This was all Blair’s fault. If she’d never dragged Holt into this, he wouldn’t have gotten shot, even if it was a flesh wound. But she’d allowed him in and let herself care about him, more than she ever meant to. Once again her choices had hurt someone.

  “I’m so sorry, Holt. I’m responsible for this.”

  He raised his head, his eyes smoldering with a quiet fury that sent a shiver into her bones. “You are not responsible for that. Not for this.” He pointed to his shoulder. “And for...for that body.” His voice cracked and he hung his head again.

  “I don’t know who that was in the water. No one has been missing in town. But we’re going to have to call Beckett. We can’t let a man stay there that way. It isn’t right. He might have a family.” Blair wiped her eyes.

  Holt nodded but didn’t speak.

  Mitch came in with a few towels. He walked to the fridge and snagged two bottles of water and set them on the table. Blair opened Holt’s, then her own and took a long drink. Her throat and lungs still burned.

  “Looks like you went for a dip in the lake.”

  “How long do you think till Doc Drummond gets here?” Holt asked.

  “He lives on the other side of my property. Ten minutes if he’s...” Mitch glanced outside. An ATV was cutting across his lawn, its humming motor bringing all their attention to the window. “He’s here.”

  Doc Drummond grabbed a bag and swung off the ATV before heading into the house. Mitch pointed to Holt.

  “What happened?” Doc Drummond set his medical bag down and removed a pair of scissors, cutting away Holt’s shirt.

  Now was not the time to take in more of Holt’s flawlessness. Or inspect the interesting display of tattoos on his shoulder, biceps and side.

  Holt remained silent. Was he in shock? Blair spoke up.

  “He was grazed by a bullet in the woods.”

  Mitch glared and shook his head. “I’m calling Beckett.”

  Blair squeezed her eyes shut. No point in arguing. It was the right thing to do. Besides, there was a body in the lake that needed to be attended to. Doc Drummond worked on Holt’s arm. “You’re right. Only a graze.” He bent him forward, looked at his shoulder and frowned.

  “What’s the matter?” Blair asked.

  Doc Drummond continued to inspect Holt’s other shoulder.

  “Nothing,” Doc Drummond said. “Just being thorough.”

  Blair wasn’t so sure. Seemed he’d found something awfully interesting there.

  Holt inhaled but said nothing; his nostrils worked in and out and his jaw clenched. After he was patched up, Mitch brought him a fresh T-shirt.

  “Thanks,” Holt said, and worked his way into it without so much as wince. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Mitch pointed off the kitchen. Holt practically sprinted inside. This had to be dreadful for him. Saving her from a snake was one thing, but now he was getting shot at and finding dead bodies. Even if he said it wasn’t her fault, his actions proved he was torn up and beside himself.

  “You hurt, Blair?” Doc Drummond asked.

  “Some scratches on my feet and arms. Mostly shaken up, I guess. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  He took her feet and began cleaning her up. She winced.

  “I was just relaxing by the pool with Riella. We’ve been swamped
lately. I’m sure she’ll offer Sophia’s enchiladas again. It’s her specialty.”

  Blair smirked. “Riella’s or Sophia’s?”

  “Both.” He chuckled and the doorbell rang.

  Mitch strode to the front and then Beckett Marsh followed him into the kitchen. “Am I wasting my time today?” His maple-colored eyes bored into Blair’s.

  Blair sighed. “I don’t know who was shooting at us or why. But there is something you should know. There’s a man’s body in the lake. On the western edge in Lovers’ Cove.”

  Mitch raised his eyebrows and Blair frowned. They hadn’t been there on purpose. Holt had no idea that couples went there for romantic moments. “By the logs, about fifteen feet from the bank. My foot got tangled in a rope. It was...” She shivered. “Holding him down.” She covered her face, and Mitch sat beside her and slung his arm around her.

  Beckett got on his radio and called it in. Wouldn’t be long before a crowd of people surrounded the area as they drew the body out. “Anything else you want to confess?”

  “No.”

  Holt came from the bathroom, his expression torn.

  Beckett gave him a once-over. “You clipped?”

  “Flesh wound,” Doc Drummond said.

  Holt glanced at his shoulder. “I’m good.”

  “I told him about the man we found in the lake. He’s sending his team out now.”

  Holt’s jaw hardened. “I have nothing to add.”

  Beckett grunted. “Didn’t figure you would, Renard. Seems like a lot of trouble has come to my town since you arrived.”

  “Are you implying something, Deputy Chief?” Holt countered, menace lacing his voice. Now was not the time for these two to pick a fight. And none of this had to do with Holt. He was an innocent bystander who’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time the day Blair was attacked on Farley Pass.

  Blair stood. “We’ve told you everything we know, Beckett. We...we need to rest. Process.” She handed Mitch her towel and finger-combed her knotted hair. “We appreciate the help.” Turning to Doc, she said, “And thank you. For everything.”

  “Seems like I’m putting you or someone close to you back together often.” He smirked. “Don’t be surprised if Riella shows up with several dishes of enchiladas.”